Here is a new edition of reading magazines at the pedicure shop, where magazines should be read, as inspired by Emily Gould. I chose to read the April Men's Vogue, which is written by women. Men's Vogue doesn't exist any more really but in April it was compiled upside-down to the back of real Vogue and I chose it over a number of other well-thumbed-through magazines at my pedicurist. It was essentially one pamphlet long.

It consisted mainly of two profiles by Roald Dahl's granddaughter Sophie: one of Robert Downey Jr., which was odd but soothing, and one of Jeremy Irons, who is an old family friend of Dahl's. She tries to encourage Downey to smoke, as she does, because she is A Model, and also he sang into her tape recorder. She decides at the end that he is really happy! Then there is the Irons piece, which I didn't really read, though I notice that this profile seemed to have been written a while ago and it sat there or it was supposed to be in Lady Vogue and got bumped back. There was some reminiscing about how glamorous it was to have him around the house and then how women titter when he gets off his motorcycle.

There was a tiny dishy Billy Norwich thing about Lee Radziwill and "Grey Gardens." You know: the kind of idle non-gossip that men crave. Oh, wait, no? I am interested in that sort of thing actually and it didn't do anything for me!

There was a tiny thing about some Israeli architect who is building the houses on an island in somewhere in the Middle East.

There was a page maybe of some swimsuits and stuff, which were not actually very new items, compared to what is being sold in the better stores. The Vilebrequin swimsuits on view in the magazine are not among the last two rounds of Vilebrequin swimsuits either in their Madison Avenue store nor in their dedicated corner at Bergdorf Men's. The Prada swimsuit may have been new but also it was tired.

Also there was a quite long essay by Lucinda Rosenfeld (who I like) about how she hates her husband and his love of golf. Now they have a baby (or, I thought, babies?), and he is not allowed to play golf except during weekdays when the nanny is there! Ha ha! And so she is like, "If he really wants to go play golf, he must take a day off work to go do so!" That was odd, since he is a writer. It was odd that she didn't write about any of his good qualities, like how he writes about finance for the New Yorker and refuses to get terrible Americanizing dental work. This was seriously a Woman-Vogue article. (Actually, it was really sort of a More or Self article, only much smarter.)

This also underscored how also almost everything in Man-Vogue was written by a woman?

I can hardly wait for the next one. But I guess I will have to, since it is now published semi-yearly.