Maybe it's the perfect winter sun, maybe it's that I'm back in my little office in Nolita and played hooky for 15 minutes to Lunettes et Chocolat, but I somehow managed to sit down and actually check out the New Yorker. Usually, I just read Sasha (who is in fine form this issue. I am so happy that the New Yorker lets him do things like have a one-word sentence the contents of which is this: "Babe.")

Anyway, the glee continues, because the New Yorker makes our whole project here at Cupcake SO FREAKING EASY. We don't have to make the point. They make it for us:

14 bylines, 2 women!

I am pealing in giddy fits of laughter here at NYU, disturbing the serious academics around me. You know it.

Two of the writers in my classes are lamenting the time their freelance stuff is taking them. They love TeenVogue and CosmoGirl, they say, because these magazines pay and keep having work. But it's hard for these two freelancers to get their heads around their own writing when the CosmoGirl viewpoint pays the rent.

Idea: let's send 6 of those 12 dudes in the New Yorker to CosmoGirl for 6 months and see what happens. Let's bring 6 women from CosmoGirl (they have the same education as the dudes at the New Yorker, I can tell you that much) on over to Seriousland and see what they stir up. Like a dinnerparty where you switch seats halfway through so it doesn't get too dull. Ya know?


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