| [ |
mood |
| |
 crushed |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Crucify My Love - X Japan |
] |
Article by Brian Schofield for guardian.co.uk
Crushed by the tyranny of the nipple: where it all went wrong at Arena
I can't recall the precise date when everything went wrong for Arena magazine, the moment that today's closure, after 22 years, became utterly inevitable. But I – along with everyone else who's written for, edited and loved the magazine over the years – can easily pinpoint the decision that set in motion the unstoppable slide to doom: the first decision to run an exposed breast.
Arena was once, of course, a hugely influential style magazine, less for men than for the whole generation of hipsters who were young and overdressed during the late 80s, then grew up into the booming "creative industries" of the 90s. Along with the Face and Wallpaper, Arena can probably take the credit for the once-alien concept that there's nothing un-British about wanting a well-designed living room, and nothing effete about a man with a job and a mortgage still having a fashionable haircut and this year's trainers.
In those days the mag was filled with long, culture-defining essays that were frequently reproduced in the Guardian – Arena invented the "New Man", then two years later redefined him as the "New Bloke". And no-one even considered printing a pair of breasts – not very New Man.
Then, in the mid-90s, one of life's unavoidable truths kicked in – squares are always more powerful than cool kids, they just need to get organised. The thudding simplicity of FHM magazine started to garner a million sales a month, while GQ struck upon its tedious masterplan of supercars, celebrities and big watches, and every national newspaper hired a style editor (most of them ex-Arena or Face alumni) to rip off the glossies' features and define a new zeitgeist every week. Arena's sales gently slid south, and in 1999 the corporate monster Emap bought up the sickly remnant.
Fresh blood poured in – I joined as a contributing editor – and for a while the title was revived. It seemed there was, after all, still a market for intelligent writing for men. (There still has to be, doesn't there? Doesn't there?) We became "the fastest growing men's magazine in the world", launching Arenas all over the planet.
But holding on to sales in a crammed market was hard work – hence the easy answer. The nipples. Just a few at first, in interviews with compliant celebrities, then an avalanche of areolae: lingerie shopping features, dirty calenders, free pornographic playing cards, illustrated erotic fiction collections. It wasn't just sexist, it was stupid – joining the younger lads' titles in a suicide charge into grubby oblivion, to be munched up by the new weekly grot-mags Nuts and Zoo – and, of course, by the simple fact that exposed breasts are quite easy to find for free on the internet.
Arena lost its gay readers, its female readers, its cool readers, its old readers. It suffered the worst fate any fashionista can bear – no-one noticing you exist. There was still some great writing in there right up until the end – and those newspaper style editors were still stealing features from its pages – but no-one cared. If I was a Bauer Media bean-counter (they bought up Emap's consumer division last year) I'd have closed it too.
The tyranny of the nipple will claim more men's magazines before this slump is out (slumps being excellent places for burying mistakes in). Only two titles look entirely unassailable – chubby men will always want a flatter stomach and a smoothie recipe from Men's Health, and, tragically, there will always be enough squares to keep GQ buoyant.
The GQ editor (and ex-Arena chief) Dylan Jones kept GQ's nipple-count in check, producing a men's magazine that wives, girlfriends and kids can read. Arena was just like that, once.
RIP.
Brian Schofield is a contributing editor to Arena
|
tired
sad
working
depressed
hungry
disappointed
listless
gloomy
confused
bored
awake
blah
pensive