I'm embarrassed to admit this, but Jane magazine died about a month ago. That's right, my favorite "women between 18 and 34" magazine just up and died without my knowledge for an entire month. I should know about this tragic death, as I still glance at mediabistro.com every so often in my build-a-house-get-engaged-and-still-manage-to-have-two-jobs frenzy. However, I missed it completely.
Until today when I stopped by my mailbox on the way to the house site, and lo and behold, there's a little postcard in there from Jane magazine. It says, "Jane will no longer be published. We are sending you editions of Allure magazine in its place until the end of your subscription."
It's as if someone punched me in the stomach, and then offered me a hot dog. My mom once said that hot dogs are really just "lips, tits, and assholes." Allure is like a hot dog. Sure, it's good for a quick fix if you're hungry enough. But it's not like it provides sustaining nutritional value. Allure is no substitute for Jane, people.
You see, Jane was the brain child of Jane Pratt, the ex-editor of Sassy. And while I didn't really read a lot of Sassy as a young lass, I was familiar with it and knew it was different from your run-of-the-mill, "how to lose 10 pounds in 10 days" chick magazine. Don't get me wrong, I like Vogue, but Jane had more edge, and it gave me just a sliver of hope in the form of publishing for this Paris-Lindsay-Britney generation. Instead of a makeover, it presented readers with a monthly makeUNDER every issue. Pamela Anderson had her own column, and it was fabulous. Bimbo meets editor.
There are those that are slinging mud about it. I suppose that's they're business, as they're in the business. I just read the thing, and I'll miss getting it in my mailbox, so screw the naysayers.
Then there's the symbolism of it. The timing is sort of apropos, I guess. I'm turning a year older. I'm no longer in the 18-34 bracket. I was out of it last year, actually, but I guess it's time to move on and start reading Redbook or Oprah.
I think I just vomited in my mouth. Seriously.
Or maybe I'll just start reading more Plath and buy old copies of Sassy on Ebay.
Farewell, Jane. And farewell 18-34. I'll miss ya.