THE INTERNET WILL NOT BE TELEVISED
—
The tech industry is easy to dislike, admire, ridicule, resent, need, and all of the above. Look, this podcast doesn’t exist without tech. But there is also no "enshittification" without tech. Coined by writer Cory Doctorow that word has entered the general lexicon with a speed and ubiquity that might make someone like, I don’t know, Shakespeare envious. If he knew what was going on. Which he doesn’t.
All of this to introduce InFormation, a magazine about tech, but more importantly, a magazine about “what tech is doing to us.” The people behind it work in the industry and so understand it, which makes them dislike it even more.
Twenty-five years ago, InFormation was like the Spy magazine of the dot com boom, a bit of a kick in the pants to an industry and a group of people who saw themselves in utopian if not messianic terms. And while they might still see themselves that way (spoiler alert: they most certainly do), a lot of people in the world do not, and so InFormation is back, it has reformed, and is being published again, with the same attitude, that is it continues to kick ass but with more feeling, because Silicon Valley is no longer a place but a mindset, techbros are a thing and a wealthy thing at that, and, well, there’s a general feeling that the world has been thoroughly colonized and completely enshittified.
—
This episode is made possible by our friends at Freeport Press.
A production of Magazeum LLC ©2021–2025

<description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;THE INTERNET WILL NOT BE TELEVISED&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;—&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The tech industry is easy to dislike, admire, ridicule, resent, need, and all of the above. Look, this podcast doesn’t exist without tech. But there is also no "enshittification" without tech. Coined by writer Cory Doctorow that word has entered the general lexicon with a speed and ubiquity that might make someone like, I don’t know, Shakespeare envious. If he knew what was going on. Which he doesn’t.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;All of this to introduce &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;InFormation&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;, a magazine about tech, but more importantly, a magazine about “what tech is doing to us.” The people behind it work in the industry and so understand it, which makes them dislike it even more.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Twenty-five years ago, &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;InFormation&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;strong&gt; was like the &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Spy &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;magazine of the dot com boom, a bit of a kick in the pants to an industry and a group of people who saw themselves in utopian if not messianic terms. And while they might still see themselves that way (spoiler alert: they most certainly do), a lot of people in the world do not, and so &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;InFormation&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;strong&gt; is back, it has reformed, and is being published again, with the same attitude, that is it continues to kick ass but with more feeling, because Silicon Valley is no longer a place but a mindset, techbros are a thing and a wealthy thing at that, and, well, there’s a general feeling that the world has been thoroughly colonized and completely enshittified.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;—&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;This episode is made possible by our friends at Freeport Press.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;p&gt;A production of Magazeum LLC ©2021–2025&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</description>

A conversation with InFormation founder/editor David Temkin

David Temkin (Founder: InFormation)

THE NEW YORK OBSERVER
—
“I finally went up to Graydon and I said, ‘Hey, you know, I know you like me. I know you wanted me to be here, but I can also do covers.’”
• • •
That’s today’s guest, Mark Seliger. He’s the same Mark Seliger who, at the moment of this exchange with Vanity Fair editor Graydon Carter, had already shot over 180 covers for Rolling Stone, where he was the chief photographer from 1992-2002.
Seliger had been heavily recruited by GQ and Vanity Fair to move to Condé Nast. But, as he learned, the days of being Fred Woodward’s go-to image maker were over. Once again, he was the new guy. And he saw an opportunity to reinvent himself.
Fortunately, reinvention is Seliger’s middle name. (Well, it’s really Alan, but you get what we mean). For example:
Seliger grew up in rural Texas, but decides to go big and moves to New York City to get into the magazine business. Reinvention #1.
He gets early work at business magazines like Manhattan, Inc. In short time his portraiture lands him a few plum assignments at Rolling Stone. Reinvention #2.
Unforgettable shoots and an immediate connection with Woodward lands him the title of chief photographer, and he picks right up where the legendary Annie Leibovitz leaves off. Reinvention #3.
His exposure at Rolling Stone leads Seliger (along with his pal Woodward) to directing music videos for A-listers like Lenny Kravitz and Courtney Love, and Gap commercials with LL Cool J and Missy Elliott. Reinvention #4.
When Covid hits, and publishing effectively shuts down, he pivots to documentary photography and produces an epic portfolio of an empty and still New York City that becomes the book, The City That Finally Sleeps. Reinvention #5.
And somewhere in the middle of all of this, Reinvention #6: Seliger starts writing songs in his free time, and then forms the band Rusty Truck. And at the moment Seliger is reminding Graydon Carter that he knows his way around a cover shoot, Rusty Truck releases its first album, Luck’s Changing Lanes, which is produced by Lenny Kravitz, Gillian Welch, Willie Nelson, Dave Rawlings, Sheryl Crow, T-Bone Burnett, and Bob Dylan.
That’s a lot. A whole lot. But for Seliger, it’s all of a piece. Photography, music, work, life. He says it’s all about following your curiosity. Observing. Not just looking but seeing. “For me,” he explains, “it’s all about storytelling—the storytelling in photography translated well into the storytelling of songwriting. And that exploration leads you to do something that you’d never done before.”
That’s the story of his life.
—
This episode is made possible by our friends at <a href="https://commercialtype.com" rel="noopener noreferrer">Commercial Type</a> and Freeport Press.
A production of Magazeum LLC ©2021–2025

<description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;THE NEW YORK OBSERVER&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;—&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;“I finally went up to Graydon and I said, ‘Hey, you know, I know you like me. I know you wanted me to be here, but I can also do covers.’”&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;• • •&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;That’s today’s guest, Mark Seliger. He’s the same Mark Seliger who, at the moment of this exchange with &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Vanity Fair&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;strong&gt; editor Graydon Carter, had already shot over &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;180&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;strong&gt; covers for &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Rolling Stone&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;, where he was the chief photographer from 1992-2002.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Seliger had been heavily recruited by &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;GQ&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;strong&gt; and &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Vanity Fair&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;strong&gt; to move to Condé Nast. But, as he learned, the days of being Fred Woodward’s go-to image maker were over. Once again, he was the new guy. And he saw an opportunity to reinvent himself.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Fortunately, reinvention is Seliger’s middle name. (Well, it’s really Alan, but you get what we mean). For example:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Seliger grew up in rural Texas, but decides to go big and moves to New York City to get into the magazine business. Reinvention #1.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;He gets early work at business magazines like &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Manhattan, Inc&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;. In short time his portraiture lands him a few plum assignments at &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Rolling Stone&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;. Reinvention #2.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Unforgettable shoots and an immediate connection with Woodward lands him the title of chief photographer, and he picks right up where the legendary Annie Leibovitz leaves off. Reinvention #3.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;His exposure at &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Rolling Stone&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;strong&gt; leads Seliger (along with his pal Woodward) to directing music videos for A-listers like Lenny Kravitz and Courtney Love, and Gap commercials with LL Cool J and Missy Elliott. Reinvention #4.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;When Covid hits, and publishing effectively shuts down, he pivots to documentary photography and produces an epic portfolio of an empty and still New York City that becomes the book, &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The City That Finally Sleeps&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;. Reinvention #5.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;And somewhere in the middle of all of this, Reinvention #6: Seliger starts writing songs in his free time, and then forms the band Rusty Truck. And at the moment Seliger is reminding Graydon Carter that he knows his way around a cover shoot, Rusty Truck releases its first album, &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Luck’s Changing Lanes&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;, which is produced by Lenny Kravitz, Gillian Welch, Willie Nelson, Dave Rawlings, Sheryl Crow, T-Bone Burnett, and Bob Dylan.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;That’s a lot. A whole lot. But for Seliger, it’s all of a piece. Photography, music, work, life. He says it’s all about following your curiosity. Observing. Not just looking but &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;seeing.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;strong&gt; “For me,” he explains, “it’s all about storytelling—the storytelling in photography translated well into the storytelling of songwriting. And that exploration leads you to do something that you’d never done before.”&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;That’s the story of his life.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;—&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;This episode is made possible by our friends at &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;a href="https://commercialtype.com" rel="noopener noreferrer"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Commercial Type&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong&gt; and Freeport Press.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;p&gt;A production of Magazeum LLC ©2021–2025&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</description>

A conversation with photographer Mark Seliger

Best of PID: Mark Seliger (Photographer: Vanity Fair, Rolling Stone, more)

REALITY BITES
—
 I am Gen X. I’m telling you this because, well, this is hardly something that is ever relevant to any conversation when, in fact, it is also always relevant to everything.
But I just don't talk about it because who cares when I was born, or that we Gen Xers all live in the long and darkest of dark shadow of Boomers, or the loud echo of Millennials, or the annoyingly brash and unknowing living of whatever the other younger generations are called. I’m Gen X, and I just know one thing: there are more of you than there are of me, and there always have been.
I'm saying all this because today we're gonna talk about Geezer magazine, as if any Gen X-er in their right mind would ever call themselves a geezer, because that's Boomer stuff. And hey, did you see we're turning 60? For fuck’s sake. As if.
So yes, Geezer, a magazine by and for Gen X that is both completely irreverent and surprisingly serious and even tender, that balances nostalgia with irony. And while Gen X’s favorite word might be whatever, the secret is we care what you think. We always have. You just have to first extract a whole lot of other stuff, that cold exterior built up as a defense mechanism against a world that is stupid, and that for whatever reason the Boomers keep running. Meaning sure, we like to say never mind, but we also sang “Don’t You Want Me” and “Debaser.”
So just take a chill pill. I promise we’ll talk about a rad magazine on today’s show..
—
This episode is made possible by our friends at Freeport Press.
A production of Magazeum LLC ©2021–2025

<description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;REALITY BITES&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;—&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt; I am Gen X. I’m telling you this because, well, this is hardly something that is ever relevant to any conversation when, in fact, it is also always relevant to everything.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;But I just don't talk about it because who cares when I was born, or that we Gen Xers all live in the long and darkest of dark shadow of Boomers, or the loud echo of Millennials, or the annoyingly brash and unknowing living of whatever the other younger generations are called. I’m Gen X, and I just know one thing: there are more of you than there are of me, and there always have been.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I'm saying all this because today we're gonna talk about &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Geezer&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;strong&gt; magazine, as if any Gen X-er in their right mind would ever call themselves a geezer, because that's Boomer stuff. And hey, did you see we're turning 60? For fuck’s sake. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;As if&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;So yes, Geezer, a magazine by and for Gen X that is both completely irreverent and surprisingly serious and even tender, that balances nostalgia with irony. And while Gen X’s favorite word might be whatever, the secret is we care what you think. We always have. You just have to first extract a whole lot of other stuff, that cold exterior built up as a defense mechanism against a world that is stupid, and that for whatever reason the Boomers keep running. Meaning sure, we like to say never mind, but we also sang “Don’t You Want Me” and “Debaser.”&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;So just take a chill pill. I promise we’ll talk about a rad magazine on today’s show..&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;—&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;This episode is made possible by our friends at Freeport Press.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;p&gt;A production of Magazeum LLC ©2021–2025&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</description>

A conversation with Geezer founders Laura LeBleu and Paul von Zielbauer.

Laura LeBleu (Editor: Geezer)

ONE EYE ON THE WORLD
—
Monocle, the brainchild of the expat Canadian magazine maker, Tyler Brûlé, was born in early 2007, a relatively awful year for the magazine business, not to mention the entire world. In that year alone, more than 100 print magazines folded—or, as Wikipedia terms it, were “dis-established”—among them: Life (yet again), Premiere, Red Herring, House & Garden, Jane, Child, and Business 2.0. Months later, the global economy was hit by the Great Recession.
But Brûlé was coming out from under a rather lengthy non-compete agreement with Time Inc., after selling his previous startup, Wallpaper*, to the American media giant, and he was desperate to get back to the newsroom.
Given the times, and the stream of fading print publications, one could judge Brûlé’s resolve as “madness,” as Don Quixote cried in the opening clip. Digital was all the rage, the iPad was knocking on the door, and the radiation of the frenzied dotcom meltdown was still slowly killing legacy media.
“Madness”? Not if you know Tyler Brûlé. 
In his world, “life as it should be” is rich—a morning espresso in a bustling cafe with a crisp newspaper written and edited in the romance language of your choice, sorting out weekends skiing the Alps or lounging on the Med while riding the night train to Vienna.
And then there’s the print—not only the magazine itself, printed on “upwards of nine different paper stocks, crammed with extremely niche articles about carbon-neutral airlines in Costa Rica and sleek Afghan restaurants in Dubai,” but also special edition newspapers, coffee table books, and Monocle-approved travel guides. 
(Someone forgot to tell Brûlé and his brilliant team of collaborators that print is dead).
In a media culture traditionally obsessed with scale at any cost, Monocle’s modest 100,000 circulation belies a thriving multi-media juggernaut that confidently ignores the lure of social media. “We’re in a very fortunate position that we’re an independent publisher,” says Brûlé, “and we don’t have the commercial pressures of a big parent. And those commercial pressures can be two-fold: One is cost savings, but the other pressures are to go and chase after every new trend.”
In fact, Brûlé thinks of Monocle as a family business.
<blockquote>
 “We don’t set out to be pioneers, but also we’re a family company, and we can choose to do things quickly if we want to.”
</blockquote>
That same culture has manufactured the pressure to establish one’s entrepreneurial cred. You’re not the editor, you’re the founding editor, the founding creative director, the founding director. But when asked about how he thinks of and refers to himself, Brûlé answers simply:
<blockquote>
 “If I think about ‘What do I do?’ I’m a journalist. I’m out to be a witness. I’m out to absorb, I’m out to interpret, and I’m out to communicate. 
</blockquote>
A print-centric media phenomenon, created as a family business, led by a journalist. Surprising? Not for someone who’s been building a life—as it should be.
—
This episode is made possible by our friends at <a href="https://commercialtype.com" rel="noopener noreferrer">Commercial Type</a> and Freeport Press.
A production of Magazeum LLC ©2021–2025

<description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;ONE EYE ON THE WORLD&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;—&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Monocle&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;, the brainchild of the expat Canadian magazine maker, Tyler Brûlé, was born in early 2007, a relatively awful year for the magazine business, not to mention the entire world. In that year alone, more than 100 print magazines folded—or, as Wikipedia terms it, were “dis-established”—among them: &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Life&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;strong&gt; (yet again), &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Premiere&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;, &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Red Herring&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;, &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;House &amp; Garden&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;, &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Jane&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;, &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Child&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;, and &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Business 2.0&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;. Months later, the global economy was hit by the Great Recession.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;But Brûlé was coming out from under a rather lengthy non-compete agreement with Time Inc., after selling his previous startup, &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Wallpaper*&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;, to the American media giant, and he was desperate to get back to the newsroom.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Given the times, and the stream of fading print publications, one could judge Brûlé’s resolve as “madness,” as Don Quixote cried in the opening clip. Digital was all the rage, the iPad was knocking on the door, and the radiation of the frenzied dotcom meltdown was still slowly killing legacy media.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;“Madness”? Not if you know Tyler Brûlé. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;In his world, “life as it should be” is rich—a morning espresso in a bustling cafe with a crisp newspaper written and edited in the romance language of your choice, sorting out weekends skiing the Alps or lounging on the Med while riding the night train to Vienna.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;And then there’s the print—not only the magazine itself, printed on “upwards of nine different paper stocks, crammed with extremely niche articles about carbon-neutral airlines in Costa Rica and sleek Afghan restaurants in Dubai,” but also special edition newspapers, coffee table books, and &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Monocle&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;-approved travel guides. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;(Someone forgot to tell Brûlé and his brilliant team of collaborators that print is dead).&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;In a media culture traditionally obsessed with scale at any cost, &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Monocle&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;’s modest 100,000 circulation belies a thriving multi-media juggernaut that confidently ignores the lure of social media. “We’re in a very fortunate position that we’re an independent publisher,” says Brûlé, “and we don’t have the commercial pressures of a big parent. And those commercial pressures can be two-fold: One is cost savings, but the other pressures are to go and chase after every new trend.”&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;In fact, Brûlé thinks of &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Monocle&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;strong&gt; as a family business.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;blockquote&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;“We don’t set out to be pioneers, but also we’re a family company, and we can choose to do things quickly if we want to.”&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;/blockquote&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;That same culture has manufactured the pressure to establish one’s entrepreneurial cred. You’re not the editor, you’re the founding editor, the founding creative director, the founding director. But when asked about how he thinks of and refers to himself, Brûlé answers simply:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;blockquote&gt;
 &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;“If I think about ‘What do I do?’ I’m a journalist. I’m out to be a witness. I’m out to absorb, I’m out to interpret, and I’m out to communicate. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;/blockquote&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;A print-centric media phenomenon, created as a family business, led by a journalist. Surprising? Not for someone who’s been building a life—as it &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;should&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;strong&gt; be.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;—&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;This episode is made possible by our friends at &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;a href="https://commercialtype.com" rel="noopener noreferrer"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Commercial Type&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong&gt; and Freeport Press.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;p&gt;A production of Magazeum LLC ©2021–2025&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</description>

A conversation with Monocle founder Tyler Brûlé

Best of PID: Tyler Brûlé (Founder: Monocle, Wallpaper*, more)

THE MAGAZINE'S THE THING
—
When you chat with a filmmaker who has become a magazine editor you start to note the parallels between filmmaking and magazine making that you never considered before. Ok, that I hadn’t considered before.
The relationship between editors and art directors, and the relationship between a director and cinematographer, well, that’s actually almost the same thing. Editors and writers. Editors and actors. Copy editors and film editors. On and on. It’s uncanny.
Seen is a magazine about the art of film and filmmaking that comes from BlackStar Projects, home of an annual film festival in Philadelphia and a creative space that “uplifts the work of Black, Brown and Indigenous artists.” Seen grew out of the program notes for the festival and it is everything cinema magazines used to be: thorough, intellectually stimulating, challenging. 
Heidi Saman, the editor, trained as a film maker and then worked at Fresh Air for over a decade. She doesn’t come from the magazine world. But she’s a storyteller. And after you listen to our chat, you, too, will see, perhaps, that making a magazine is a lot like making a movie.
—
This episode is made possible by our friends at Freeport Press.
A production of Magazeum LLC ©2021–2025

<description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;THE MAGAZINE'S THE THING&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;—&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;When you chat with a filmmaker who has become a magazine editor you start to note the parallels between filmmaking and magazine making that you never considered before. Ok, that&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;strong&gt; I &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;hadn’t considered before.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The relationship between editors and art directors, and the relationship between a director and cinematographer, well, that’s actually almost the same thing. Editors and writers. Editors and actors. Copy editors and film editors. On and on. It’s uncanny.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Seen&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;strong&gt; is a magazine about the art of film and filmmaking that comes from BlackStar Projects, home of an annual film festival in Philadelphia and a creative space that “uplifts the work of Black, Brown and Indigenous artists.” &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Seen&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;strong&gt; grew out of the program notes for the festival and it is everything cinema magazines used to be: thorough, intellectually stimulating, challenging. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Heidi Saman, the editor, trained as a film maker and then worked at Fresh Air for over a decade. She doesn’t come from the magazine world. But she’s a storyteller. And after you listen to our chat, you, too, will see, perhaps, that making a magazine is a lot like making a movie.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;—&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;This episode is made possible by our friends at Freeport Press.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;p&gt;A production of Magazeum LLC ©2021–2025&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</description>

A conversation with Heidi Saman, editor of Seen

Heidi Saman (Editor: Seen)

Podcasts about magazines and the people who made (and make) them.

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