The Far End of the Newsstand: 'Absolute'
In today's New York Times, Katharine W. Seelye looks at the growing luxury lifestyle magazine genre, with specific attention paid to Absolute.
The premiere issue of Absolute magazine—headed up by former New York Magazine editor Caroline Miller and Andrew Essex, late of Details—begs the epistemological question of the ages: can you judge a magazine by its cover?
If so, what does Absolute's envy-colored abstract cover say? What, exactly, do the fizzy Krug Champagne bubbles in close-up mean?
Is it a metaphor for the lightness and effervesce of life at the very top of New York's Great Social Chain of Being? Had the first issue come out last year, Absolute's cover might've featured a close up of the slimy black caviar atop Le Parker Meridien's thousand dollar omelet; had it come out 20 years ago, lines of expensive white powder on a mirror. Champagne wishes, caviar dreams, et cetera.
Or is it precisely the opposite? Is there a sly commentary bubbling up here? Has Absolute's fabulously wealthy readership quaffed Manhattan's good life—drained this city to its very dregs—and now we're seeing it come out the other end? (Metaphorically speaking.)
Before turning inside, another thought on the cover: Absolute takes the product placement on the covers of other general interest magazine's one step further by interspersing actual brand names among its coverlines. It's as if Amanda Peet, Liev Schreiber, Ferrari, Balenciaga, and Lanvin Pearls are all commodities on equal footings, both as culture and as consumables. It's an interesting idea, if it's being done ironically. (We're reminded of the "For the Love of Cheese" issue of Might that featured "Tater Tots," and "Mentos"—not to mention "FULL COLOR PAVEMENT AD"—among its enticements to readers.) But reading Absolute's content, we doubt irony was the intended purpose. Absolute is not joking around. As editor Andrew Essex says in his introductory letter:
What you'll find in these pages isn't for everyone. Think of Absolute as the discerning New York City sourcebook, a concierge service for sophisticated consumers, a social playbook for navigating exclusive circles. We're not about hundreds of looks or dozens of alternatives at multiple price points. We're curated for the narrowband, the tenderloin.
Or, as Kristen Richardson writes in one article, "Corporations have come to understand that plain old expensive is no longer exclusive enough."
Clearly, Absolute takes the good life very, very seriously.
What you will discover should you read Absolute: Havana Browns, the new must-have cats (at between $500-$900 a pop); the wasabi you've been enjoying at sushi places is "likely a horseradish-based imposter that has about as much relation to genuine wasabi root as salmon-roe caviar has to beluga"; asmallworld.net is Friendster for the jet set where "Last fall, 50 handpicked users began weeding out anyone separated from an original member by more than two degrees"; Liev Schreiber is "smart as fuck and funny as shit" according to Jonathan Safran Foer; living on East 57th Street makes philanthropists Thomas H. Lee and Ann Tenenbaum "surprisingly low profile"; it's time to sell your Ed Ruschas because "his mediocre paintings from the 1980s are consistently bringing in $700,000 to $1 million at auction"; there are several lovely "seven-figure friendly" apartments available downtown; the best Dubai pied-à-terres can be found at the Palm "some of the world's largest manmade islands—each in the shape of a palm tree"; Amanda Peet is still a New Yorker, despite living in Los Angeles; Diet Coke is now an "accepted breakfast beverage"; and, finally, "Having a dog in New York forces you to come into contact with other dog people. Which means you have to be friendly."
That last observation comes from architect Richard Meier, who in a bit of stunt-casting, writes—or maybe dictates to an assistant via cell phone as he passes in and out of tunnels—the backpage 'Closing Argument,' "Why Dogs Rule New York."
For all the glamour on display in Absolute, one gets the sense that far from living the Life of Riley, New York's wealthy have it really tough. "Restauranteur and yoga instructor" Alex Von Bidder reminds us of the challenges:
The missed plane. The blown meeting. The botched interview, appointment, anniversary dinner. The horror of gridlock at 61st and Park."
Or as ceramist Jonathan Adler tells us by way of endorsing the Peninsula Hotel's 90-minute shiatsu massage ($225): "Living in New York, you feel so beaten down every day."
It's true: life in New York is hard on its residents, just like The New York Times' Neediest Cases Campaign and City Harvest keep reminding us.
Finally, another epistemological question: is Absolute worth your $8.00? That depends on how many lush product shots and socialite party photos you can tolerate. If you're in them, it might make it easier, as Essex told The Times: "People like to see themselves in pictures... It reinforces their place in the social firmament." There's a good article by Nina Burleigh on the Chrysler Building's once lush, now decrepit Cloud Club, but if you saw The Aviator (or Cremaster 3) you've been there, seen that.
Is it better than Gotham, its closest competitor in the empyrean reaches of lifestyle micro-casting? Absolutely (so too speak): better articles, better art, better design, a more tastefully refined sensibility, and definitely a better reading experience for the refreshing absence of Jason Binn photos on nearly every page. But it hardly matters: Saying Absolute is better than Gotham is like preferring filthy rich to filthy, stinking rich. In the end, all that lucre is still pretty damn dirty, and it's probably not a magazine for you unless your last name comes in two parts and contains "von," or you use the word "summer" as a verb and can still live with yourself.
