There is something so endlessly pleasing about the tactile nature of printed material. I have an overwhelming love for magazines (my ever-growing collection reflects this passion with rather graceful gusto) and will, with minimal encouragement, gush profusely over the plethora of visual wealth and inspiration I receive from the glossy pages of a double page spread.
I thought, in honour of this love, I would dedicate a post to my favourite magazines.
I am currently crawling back with apologetic guilt to the dusty, doily-clad pages of this darling publication. The world always looks more rosy with a Frankie clasped in your hands. Best enjoyed with a cup of sugary tea, preferably served on vintage china with a jammy dodger teetering alongside.
Literally an epic explosion of colour and calamity, effort-fully bound into a hefty publication. Jack-full of inspiring introductions to the world's creatives. Tavi was here, Brittany Spears collaborated with Murakami, Cindy Sherman popped by and even Elton John made a candid appearance. Only 2 issues a year calls for rather epic impatient yet semi- blissful anticipation.
I hate oysters– I question as to whether anyone actually enjoys the slimy saltiness and shrivelled grey snottiness of such shell-encased grotesqueness, or just slurp away with a false sense of pleasure simply for the unordained prestige of such expensive foodie items.
Not that Oyster magazine is anything like an oyster. Full of rad bottoms and hip n' funky rollers like Bambi and Lara Bingle, this zine has never failed to please. And at only $10 it is a pleasurable steal– unlike its unappealing namesake.
I was inspired to purchase Lula after Tavi and Rumi both professed their love for this publication. Girlie would be an understatement– riddled with pink and misty lens photography, this magazine makes it ok to wear fluffy pink jumpers and sparkly shoes. A little too feministic at times for my liking, but the pretty pictures have me swooning in delight, soon forgetting my aforementioned criticism.