Confessions of A Glossy Magazine Writer
We All Have Our Sordid Past
“I struggled in the beginning. I said I was going to write the truth, so help me God. I found I couldn’t. No one can write the absolute truth.” Henry Miller
I’ve been writing about wine since 1992, when I founded my own publication, the Florida Wine Bulletin. It was a monthly print newsletter containing my tasting notes and wine ratings, as well as comments on the industry. It appeared when there were very few similar publications, so it had a bigger impact than I expected.
I quickly discovered that I was antagonizing a lot of people, but this wasn’t intentional: I was just telling the truth as I saw it. The light bulb soon went off over my head, and I realized that being controversial was one of the best ways to get noticed. Even so, I didn’t engage in sensationalism for its own sake, but merely stated my opinions, and in the process, I pissed off a lot of folks in different segments of the wine world.
I folded up the FWB in 1995, when I received an offer to be the wine writer for the Palm Beach Post. I wrote a weekly column and tried my best to play it straight. While nothing I said in the Post was earth-shattering, it helped establish my name on the local and national scene (wineries are very quick to pick up on positive press and blast it all over the place). From there, I transitioned to a role as wine, spirits, and restaurant reviewer for a group of glossy magazines.
It was exhilarating at first, but the excitement gradually subsided. The magazines had an ironclad policy about never saying anything negative about anyone. This put me in a position to find positive things to say about restaurants, chefs and wineries that didn’t deserve them. It got worse as the years went on, but I persevered because I wanted to be part of the conversation—even though I recognized that the conversation didn’t mean much, since the “reality” depicted in those publications bore little resemblance to the outside world.
Who reads glossy magazines? Rich people, obviously, since they are consistently publicized in them. Each of the publications I worked for had a society section in the front of the book, featuring pages and pages of photos of attendees at charity balls and galas. The ads in these magazines fit in well with the lifestyles of the wealthy, who could afford to buy the products advertised. Probably the largest readership group consisted of the wannabees, upper middle-class individuals with their noses pressed against the glass in envy.
For what it’s worth, almost no one paid for these publications. They were mailed out for free to addresses in certain demographic groups, to bulk up the circulation numbers and appeal to potential advertisers. The last time I checked, paid circulation was about 2% of the total.
The situation deteriorated with every passing year. I was cranking out 18-20 pieces each month, and it was joyless work. The relentless deadlines turned me into someone who lived to make PR reps happy, and I depended on them: with that kind of workload, I was desperate for material. And all the while, I had to contend with clueless publishers and inept editors. On the few occasions when I attempted to be myself, it landed me in the proverbial doghouse. “You can’t be doing this kind of thing,” one editor lectured me. “We’re not The New York Times.” To be fair, the upper management of this magazine group had an uncanny ability to deliver exactly what their readers wanted; beyond that, they regularly ignored basic grammatical rules and altered copy to fit their agenda. The toxic atmosphere was lorded over by a whose arrogance stemmed from ignorance, insecurity and pretension.
A word about editors: In my experience, many of them are mediocre writers who get promoted. After all, why would an exceptionally talented writer accept a boatload of responsibility and aggravation for a small pay raise? For the most part, they have a very short attention span given the demands of their job. Freelancers learn quickly not to send lengthy emails to editors, or to take more than a minute or two to pitch a story.
Yes, I remained a freelancer, and with good reason. When the Brittanys and Ashleys and Heathers of the world graduate from college or journalism school, they have two options: become a PR rep, or work for a magazine (newspapers, as we know, are an endangered species). When Brittany becomes an entry-level “editor” at a magazine, she gets a lot of assignments, because she’s working cheap (i.e., not being paid a wage that would achieve subsistence in most cities). Her work is nothing to brag about at that stage of her career, but it gets polished by a senior editor to the magazine’s mediocre norm. After several years, she tires of eating instant ramen and is able to get a job elsewhere.
So there I was, exhausted and depressed. Why did I keep at it, beyond the previously mentioned desire to remain part of the conversation? I didn’t see an alternative, since the national magazines I freelanced for weren’t much better. When I finally left, after a dispute over journalistic standards, there were no words to describe the relief and liberation I felt. Is it any wonder, then, about how enthusiastic I feel about writing this newsletter? I’d much rather work for free than get paid by a glossy magazine, and I’m grateful that I’m able to feel that way.
Journalists are trained to pursue the truth, but Miller was right: There is no absolute truth. The curious thing is how many of us continue to search for it.
