Fifteen Minutes: I am the Very Model

Some of fmis best friends have come up to fm in recent weeks to broach the topic of the magis sincerity: is fm trying to be a real magazine, or are we just fucking kidding? Believe it or not, this is a matter to which fm has itself devoted a good bit of thought when contemplating its collective oomphalos while sitting on the collective can. In point of fact, last Thursday, when discussing the hot prospects for issue 4 and otherwise, there was almost a throwdown amongst fmis editors et alia, prompted solely by consideration of the question, consideration of another entirely unrelated question, a bit of good-natured name-calling, some looks askance, passed notes, invidious rumor-mongering and the like.

While one might consider such a locking of horns to be standard fare when bringing together a number of alpha-females and -males into the same extremely cramped workspace, such an analysis would be ill-considered, to say the least. We here at the magazine instead consider such behavior to be the successor to existential crisis in the postmodern milieu. Clearly, we find ourselves trying to wrap our minds around a difficult, nay, hot-buttony issue.

At first blush, things donit look too good for the naive point of view. If we are to accept the position that fm is a sincere publication, one that cares about its content, design, staff and readership, then what up with, say, gossip guy? Despite the construction of GGis sneaky-cool, big-goggled persona, sometimes Guy must rely on the kindness of strangers in getting the goods. Most of the time, these tips are hot, but sometimes he gets his hands on a cold one. It is a constant source of disappointment to us, as well it should be. Another example is our bulging mail bags feature. We are ashamed to admit it, dear reader, but we do occasionally edit letters for length and legal purposes. If fm were truly a sincere publication, would we not have made you aware of this caveat long ago?

At the same time, though, there are bits of fm, small bits granted, that smack of truth and reality (and sometimes even effort), the very cornerstones of sincerity. As proof, take a look at our hard-hitting Abercrombie expos. Or maybe try our models on for size. Christ, it doesnit get any more facile that that. Of course, there is a fine line between what is sincere and what is sentimental. Youill find that, in order to stay on the left side of that line, weive eschewed such journalistic conventions as fact-checking and grammar. It is all for you...

So, then, are we or are we not full of shit? Can we possibly find an answer to this thorny question? Let us follow the courageous example of, say, Godel or Heisenberg, and say, resoundingly, no. This is not a proposition fm can decide, at least not right now. Perhaps later there will be time. For the moment, we leave it to you instead. This weekend, as you chillax, do with us what you will. Decide if we shoot from the hip, or from slightly lower. And read accordingly.