Like other magazine junkies, I worry that the experience of flipping through a glossy will soon no longer be available. The coolness of the page, the crisp photos, the satisfying smack the book (editor talk for “magazine”) makes when it lands on a coffee table—oh, how I loves it. I still have boxes full of American Girl, YM, Seventeen, and Rolling Stone that I made my parents take with them when they moved from Idaho to Arizona. And, yes, Mom, I read them all when I visit. In some ways, I think I appreciate these old books more now than when I was a kid and couldn’t wait for the spring prom issue to arrive in the mail. My heart swells up whenever I run my fingers along the same pages of dresses and boots my 13-year-old self obsessed over. I laugh at all the dog-eared corners I made to note articles on how to be a better kisser. And I cringe when I come across a personality quiz I obviously took over and over again.
It’s in these cases that the analog becomes a prized artifact, an heirloom, says The Digital Beyond’s John Romano. (I interviewed him the other day for a separate story I’m working on.) “I think tangible objects are going to become things of artisan care. Real tangible books may become labors of love like paintings.” To illustrate his point, Romano notes that before cameras, the only picture you might have of yourself was a small painting. As film became cheaper and more available, the demand for portrait paintings decreased dramatically. But with rarity came an increase in value and care for paintings.
I breathe another sigh of relief when I see McSweeney’s San Francisco Panorama, Coralie Bickford-Smith’s clothbound series for Penguin Classics, and homegrown labors of magazine love from my friend Dan Catt. Catt’s Photo1024 is made possible by on-demand publishing services such as MagCloud and Newspaper Club.
It’s enough to make me think that beautifully designed and pitch-perfect magazines, books, and newspapers will continue to be produced—albeit in smaller numbers—out of big publishing houses and home offices as long as there are people who will love and cherish them as much as that watercolor of your great-great-grandfather hanging in your living room.
