What do lads’ mags and rapists have in common?’ ran an opinion piece in G2 last year. The boom of titles like Zoo and Nuts, floppy, 96 page extensions of tabloid page 3 content in the late 90s reflected the lad culture zeitgeist, a zeitgeist which, if not dead, has certainly morphed into a different beast altogether.
Alongside trends in the magazine industry (particularly an increased viability for boutique publications and the falling price of high quality print), this shift has opened up a niche for a competitive market of high-end men’s magazines. If 95 – 05 was the age of the lad, we have moved back towards the timelessness of the gentleman.
Permanence is the key for any budding gentleman. The ability to navigate an inflexible set of passed-down traditions across fashion, grooming, and social pursuits, illustrated by the comparatively slow pace of men’s fashion vis-a-vis women’s, is the hallmark of good taste. As such, gentlemen’s magazines’ coverstars are not GEORDIE BABES UNCOVERED, but fellow men who might as easily be pin-ups for their female counterparts.
One example is 10 Men, brother to 10 Women, whose S/A 2012 issue is graced with James Franco, Gucci suited, facially-hirsute, but holding a cheap latté. The takeaway coffee cup hints at the effortlessness expected from the successfully stylish. 10’s aesthetic direction follows the borderline garishness of unaffordable high fashion, modeled by men with unachievable six packs and coiffed hair. Editorially, it’s just as brash, though far less masculine. Its recurring gossip pages illustrate its editorial obsession with the fashion industry itself, rather than the end product of it. It is poppy, bubbly, and glossy, and exists at the more lighthearted end of the men’s mag spectrum.
Far more po-faced is Fantastic Man. It shares the same strong aesthetic jawline as 10, but is obsessed with the day-to-day lifestyle of the gentleman. It is designed like a good shave, crisp, smooth, ready for inspection, and excels in exquisite portraiture. Its editorial tone is arch, sometimes gratingly so, and while its choice of interview subjects is unsensationalist and unparalleled (S/S 12 issue offers Frieze’s Matthew Slotover, gardener Piet Oudolf, and author Owen Jones) its focus on the minutiae of their lifestyle rather than broader philosophical or cultural topics can sometimes leave more fat than meat to chew on.
Hunter Magazine (formerly The/End) is a more forward-thinking publication. Models ere more towards hipster iconography, and the loud styling combines more elements of sportswear, vintage-look, and gammy patterns, and – behold! – there are hot women in here too. Its S/S 12 edition features an emotive, nocturnal shoot of a lippy brunette dressed half in her clothes, and half in yours (image above). There’s a real atmosphere created by the more weathered aesthetic direction of the magazine – it falls down when it comes to the written content. Seemingly translated from Italian, there are typos in the editorial (cardinal sin!), and the pretension in the short pieces makes for a wandering, unnavigable reading experience.
Top of the pile is Man About Town, whose rapid evolution since its inception in 2007 has seen it become something of a Pop or Love exclusively for boys. M.A.T. tries, successfully, to be a master of all trades. Its most recent Dog Issue is a blitz of experimental font-work, mixed paper stock, striking photography (6 cover-mounted postcards of canine portraits mean there’s no need for ripping pages out), and top-drawer interviews. Any magazine with Julie Burchill on the contributors roll is liable to divide opinion in its editorial, but opening a fashion magazine with a 6 page study on the treatment of animals in the film industry and an interview with the outspoken Paul Bergé is brave in its treatment of readers. Just drop Paul Gilligan’s godawful comic strip, and M.A.T.’s combination of haute and pulp hits the perfect note.
As ever, magmabooks.com and mottodistribution.com fill the vacant lot where a comprehensive Dublin magazine shop should have, at the very least, planning permission.
