Magazines that hit the magic spot in readers’ enthusiasm and devotion are a result of right time, right place, and the right captain at the helm. The New Yorker, founded by that irascible crew-cut genius Harold Ross, was launched in 1925, the same year as The Great Gatsby, a frothy era syncopated to the sound of jazz, Tin Pan Alley, and the pop of champagne corks. Had the raised-monocle urbane magazine launched a decade later, during the Depression, it wouldn’t have carried the same chorus-line kick. It might not have gotten off the ground at all.
The planets were racked up in similar alignment for the creation of The Face, a monthly culture-and-style magazine for clever clogs out for fun.
