Friday, November 09, 2007

Last Issue

I bought an issue of Details magazine last year and though it was a good enough read that I should get their really cheap subscription. I also mistakenly thought that it Details was Esquire, which is what I really wanted to get because Chuck Klosterman is a contributing writer there.

After a couple of issues it became pretty clear to me that Details sucked. I tried to give each issue a chance, but I just couldn’t take the half-assed articles and snooty fashion/grooming advice. Though I’ll admit that some of the advice was decent, like the one-pager on how to properly hem pants or the featured tutorial on the art of shaving, I don’t need to know that I shouldn’t be wearing square toed shoes or “mom” jeans.

I think my favorite story from the magazine is this article with the doorman from Socialista. I wasn’t actually annoyed by it; I was entertained by the article. But it wasn’t because it was a good article. Rather, it was so outrageously ridiculous. You have a magazine profiling a guy who’s made a career out of being a doorman, and he’s supposedly equipped to give out fashion advice because he’s been the “stylish gatekeeper” at all of the hottest clubs in NY. If he’s so stylish, why doesn’t he have a career in fashion?

I knew for a while that I wouldn’t renew my subscription, but Details kept sending me “last issue” notices. These have been going on for about three months and came in the form of letters and E-mails. I kept ignoring them. In an attempt to appeal to the vain part of my personality, the latest letter states, “The issue you miss might just be the one that contains the tip, the shirt, the suit, the heads up that will make a HUGE difference in your life.”

Was the feature on the advantages of acquiring a bespoke suit really going to make or break me? Or maybe it was the profile on the features of the latest Rolex that might’ve made a difference. Had I decided to follow the advice of either of these articles, I may just be making hundreds of thousands of dollars a year and sleeping with a Brazilian super model by now. Maybe, just maybe, I could’ve been Halle Berry’s baby daddy.

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