Since High School, I’ve been a avid reader of GQ magazine. At first, buying GQ was a question of not feeling as guilty as buying a porn magazine but still getting the occasional nipple and long legs here and there all while learning about color matching my future shirts and ties. Then eventually, buying GQ became a question of reading interesting fiction pieces and learning about the World through the eyes of various columnists and freelancers and seemed to all have great lives. Now reading GQ is more like a hassle of going through pages and pages of ads to find the glitzy colored pages were some articles are hidden between two pictures of a half naked over exposed ok looking young girl photographed by Terry Richardson. Once in while is fun – all the time is not.
That’s why these days, counting down to my 30s, I’ve turned the page on GQ and I’ve switched over to Monocle, Canadian Tyler Brûlé’s wonderful, beautiful and very interesting magazine. If Monocle were to be woman, it would that exquisite Cougar in the corner of the lounge having a gin and tonic talking about that trip she was invited on by some rich Prince of a foreign country whose GDP would make more than one American Billionaire blush. Monocle’s design, layout, short and interesting articles mixed with long portraits that spit out facts that you can use in a boring Wine and Cheese with office colleagues, just makes it much better than the teenage glossy mag GQ has become.
