I really miss the time when you got your hands on a quality magazine and absorbed yourself in it, cover to cover.
I used to pin the front cover of Arena to my bedroom wall, and photo spreads for Paul Smith etc. Didn’t have many girlfriends then. Very dodgy on reflection. The unread copy of De Profundis by Oscar Wilde would have had the agents at Langley doing an Ancelotti eyebrow raise that’s for sure.