The cluelessly materialistic Christmas plans of British Vogue’s editors are at odds with the furious Communism of the magazine’s teenage offshoot.
The Lad’s Mag ultimately fell because they refused to grow up. So perhaps it is time to offer a more grown up alternative. Something for the reader who has put aside childish things – football, nipple-free shoots by Lucy Pinder, oafish Brit-crime films, banter – but who retains the elements of the rascal, the miscreant, the cad, the bounder, the loafer… the reprobate. The fellow who may have developed finer (or possible lower) tastes in all things, yet who has not yet submitted to tedious conformity. The malcontent who knows that the good life needs a decidedly wicked side.