my new yorker confession

It amounts to this: I don’t read the New Yorker, yet I’ve been a cover aficionado for decades. My grandparents were New Yorker readers (they were wonderfully well-read) and when I was a teenager I asked if I could have the magazines after they were finished with them. I would carefully cut off the cover, toss the magazine, and then add the image to a colorful wall paperish montage on my bedroom wall.

My good friend since high school, Nina, recently gave me these covers that she found at a Brooklyn flea market:

I love how artful and conceptual they are.

Today I live with a New Yorker reader and I confess that I still rarely open the magazine. I admire those who have the grit to read it each week, but it feels too overwhelming as they pile up all around the house (Chris literally just walked by with a magazine in hand and said I have no excuse).

Incidentally, I was just checking out the Blown Covers weekly illustration contest (thanks again to Sarah for a good recommendation) and I came across a bunch of the images from my bedroom wall a la 1996. Maybe its a sign that I should submit something one of these weeks.



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2 responses to “my new yorker confession

  1. maddi

    Those covers are gorgeous. Love the illustration at the top of your blog hill.

  2. Yes, you should submit to Blown Covers! Cool vintage covers you shared too.

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