'Trump' Mag: Insert Firing Witticism Here
When not suing his Palm Beach neighbors over the size of his pole, Donald Trump keeps busy pushing his personal vision. Resembling nothing so much as a rich jerk's version of Sky Mall, Trump Magazine has shockingly existed since 2004. Normally found largely in airport newsstands and Trump hotel nightstands, Trump broke a little wider with the "launch" of its New York regional issue. The quarterly found in NYC now sports a back section of local listings and listicles that makes Time Out look positively bleeding edge. Advertising tilts unsurprisingly toward Trump products and several producers of the most hideously gaudy watches this side of a pirate movie prop chest. But let's take the occasion of our very own New York Trump — at last! — to delve into these glossy pages and see what awaits.
Of course you know that Trump Magazine sucks. That inevitable prejudgment aside, a quick explanatory dissection is in order. Trump is produced and nominally owned by Premiere Publishing Group, though obviously it's licensed and funded by the Donald. The custom mag exists primarily to pimp the Trump brand and his line of products, from hotels and casinos to books, videos, and Learning Annex harangue sessions. It's sort of like Trader without even a tiny scrap of dignity.
Though it's doubtful that Trump content gets anywhere near Trump himself (beyond passing under the eye of some approving sub-factotum), the patently ghostwritten "Letter from Donald Trump" perfectly captures his artificial public persona. The Apprentice is instantly referenced, as it is throughout the magazine; products highlighted in well articles are praised; the entire issue is methodically previewed, in fact. One can only imagine what editorial assistant bangs out these "Letters" while glancing at an email containing the next issue's table of contents.
Speaking of the content, it's typical upperclass lifestyle dreck targeted mostly at those who could never afford such. The real movers are the hotels, casinos, and small-purchase side items that make unsexy but serious and constant money for the "Trump Organization." Those everyday workhorses may not appeal like the charmingly stereotypical feature odes to cigars, wine, caviar, champagne, and yes, yachts, but you need a little steak (or pot roast) with that sizzle. And the laughably pious treatments of hybrid SUVs and philanthropy sound about as sincere as you'd expect.
Aside from particularly specious advertorial and Patrick McMullan photo dumps, the best single page is the "Trump Year-in-Review," highlighting favorable press coverage of the man and his clan (including the infamous Vogue shot by Annie Liebowitz depicting a pregnant, bikini'd Melania Trump on a jet's gangplank while Donald either arrives or is about to drive off in a sports car). This type of stuff should be the entire focus of the magazine, even if the clippings are fabricated or paid for by advertisers. If you're going to plunge yourself into Trumpiana, having to trudge through reams of non-Trump mercenary editorial just dilutes the effect. Take him straight, or not at all.
