But don't touch
I wanted to relaunch Look magazine. Originally the name had signified the heavy dominance of photography within its covers — stuff to “look” at. In the ’90s some forgotten genius had discussed bringing it back as a “home & lifestyle” magazine, telling you how to shape up your house, wardrobe, and pantry. In other words, how to update the “look” of your stuff.
I felt it was time to consider a third meaning of the title. I wanted Look magazine to be the first word in a tirade, as in, “Look, pal, I’ve had it up to here with you.”
I shopped this idea around to the major magazine-publishing firms. I started with the ones that did not own the rights to the name, figuring they wouldn’t be able to steal it from me as easily. I described my Look as like “Interview with no art bullshit and more jokes.” Later I changed the pitch to, “Like Smithsonian with Page 3 girls.” In short, I wanted it to be the world’s first pornosophical monthly.
There was some interest shown to this reformulated concept. It was called “edgy” by several people who had heard that word. Editors searching for something to make them look good at the board meeting would go to bat for me as a means to that end. But while some may have embraced the lucrative demographic we were targeting — pre-post-ironic metrosexual intrapreneurs who can’t get laid — no one really understood the idea as I did. To them, it was another way to pay for yachts. To me, it was a mission.
I was tired of photographing people smiling at me while thinking of someone else. I was tired of well-lit product shots. I was tired of moody fashion shots. I was tired of all the kinds of shots that went in all the kinds of magazines. And, yes, I had even had my flirtation with good old porn. That bored me too, after about twenty minutes of thinking, “I am totally a pornographer.” Plus, every time I found a good subject, Richard Kern would turn her on to smack. There were no markets for the photos I wanted to make, so I wanted to make a market.
The closest this idea ever came to happening was this summer. I had enticed a young millionaire into putting up half the money I said I needed — a ridiculous sum I will not insult you with by repeating — and we took our song-and-dance routine to a heavyweight publisher whose name you would instantly recognize if I could remember it. I told him the concept, a few of the pitch lines (“It’s like Giant Robot for white people”), and pointed out that we had half the seed money taken care of. Then the guy said, “So what sort of material do you envision?”
I told him about the evocative photography to be provided by up-and-coming hotshots (me). I told him about the satirical views on city life from the country’s best satirical city viewers. I told him we’d have great, minimalist design layouts. He said, “Who have you got lined up?”
“For the design?”
“For the writing, the design, the photography…what team have you got?”
I pointed out that I would do some of the photographs. But the rest was really in development. He sort of frowned. I gave him another pitch line (“It’s like The Whole Earth Review for cokeheads”) and shifted around in my chair. I had the idea! Weren’t they supposed to work out the details?
Apparently not. To this day, my magazine remains but a dream. Anyone who has any free ideas on what might actually go in it, besides cool shit I like, please let me know. I will send you a free copy when it comes out.
by Jack, September 16, 2004 8:21 PM | More from The Damned Human Race
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Three weeks? You fucking slacker.
You're welcome to take over for a while if you can handle the pressure.