There's nothing like the resounding whomp as a big, fat, healthy magazine hits your desk. It makes me absolutely giddy to see cover lines like "758 pages." Are we back to the good old days? If you have seen the September Vogue, you might think so.It is exactly 758 pages, and it weighs in at a hefty 3.5 pounds. Yes, pounds. Can you imagine the postage bill per issue? But don't cry for them ― they have so many advertisers in the issue that you don't hit editorial until after the 200th page. There also are enough blow-ins and fold-outs that it's actually hard to turn the pages.
But I love it. I adore the scent of ink (when I can smell it over the hundreds of perfume samples). I love to feel the paper the way a Bergdorf's associate smooths cashmere scarves ― and I can tell you the difference between 80-pound and 100-pound paper in a second.
I love pixels and picas. I can throw around terms like "CMYK" and "process color" with the best of them. I like to debate saddle vs. perfect binding, and I love dipping into the well. If you know what I mean, you're in the print club. If you don't understand what I'm talking about, poor you.
Once you have ink in your veins, it's hard to remove it. I am not so old school that I don't see the allure of the new toys in the digital age, but I am enjoying the resurgence of the print world and the celebrations of the written word.
My favorite example right now is the new Pilcro collection of clothes at Anthropologie. The line has found some fun names for its pants ― Serif, Stet, and Superscript. Makes me want to get out my red china marker and go to work.