What, Me Worry?

Why are editors jerks? We have a lot of theories, but first let’s just say that there are some notable exceptions. Mean editors outnumber nice editors about two to one, in our experience. (Men’s and Women’s magazines: five to one. Literary magazines: one to one.)

Editors tend to believe they are overworked. They also tend to feel underappreciated. Generally, they have a highly developed martyr complex—they are both the ingenuity and the industry of their magazine, though very few people seem to notice. They feel beseiged by writers who are desperate to be published, but who turn out to be unreliable helpmeets. No one ever seems able to execute what the editor has in his mind, but he is too harried or too important to go ahead and do it himself. The result is frequently lots of light and heat and exhaust, and a high rate of turnover on the lower levels of the masthead.

This week, James Truman was put to pasture from Conde Nast. The young, British super-editor had a meteoric rise through the ranks of the world’s greatest magazine company to become its editorial director—a mostly ceremonial, no-receipts expense account, executive position that is the wet-dream of magazine professionals everywhere. (The only perch that is higher and requires even less work: Time’s “editors at large.”)

There is no one we can think of who better fits the stereotype of the editor as frivolous, glacial egotist. Truman became famous for his month-long sabbaticals in the Far East, his month-long sabbaticals in upstate New York, his month-long sabbaticals at Conde Nast Europe. (We exaggerate, slghtly.) He was paid a handsome sum to do not much else besides read magazines and read trends, and try to put the two together in order to help the company make more money. He is most notable, probably, for proposing “Lucky” and “Cargo,” Lucky’s male counterpart. He also got to choose the carpet for Conde Nast’s prestigious new office tower in Times Square. It is not clear whether he ever actually contributed anything to journalism—although he took his leave proposing a never-to-be fine arts magazine, so presumably he still has his pride.

Full disclosure: We have had a lot of wonderful professional colleagues and pen-pals over the years. The exceptions to the rule have been so friendly and forthcoming and supportive that we hesitate to say the following. James Truman was an ass. Not a lot of people were willing to say it, because he was one of the most powerful editors in magazines south of Rockefeller Center.

The problem with a meritocracy like ours is that many people achieve a professional peak (Truman’s was editing Details when Details was so good that it caught the attention and investment of S.I. Newhouse), and then they pretty much coast forever afterward, taking up valuable space. This wouldn’t in itself be a problem, except that these folks tend to be jealous of their expense accounts and private drivers and two-hour martini lunches. They earned this! They stick around long after their expiration dates, and suppress the whole organization, up and down the masthead.

Yes, it is true that Truman once dissed us—privately. Our own fatal flaw is a long memory and an unforgiving nature, along with an occasional, tourettic impulse to sabotage our own advancement. That probably puts us among the mean editors, rather than the nice ones. Sorry about that. We believe we can evolve, and one day use our powers for good.