Recently I found myself in Eason perusing the racks. Sure, I’m fond of clicking on social-media links and consuming the web, but when it comes to glossy magazines I adore the tactile experience that is curling up with a coffee and a thick volume filled with beautiful pictures and interesting words.
Declining print sales are nothing new, but many big titles still clean up. From real-life weeklies such as Take a Break to Vanity Fair and Vogue, women’s magazines still take up an awful lot of shelf space, as do men’s mags, special interest (cars, tech, fantasy) and, of course, children’s titles with TV tie-ins.
The one area I found sorely lacking was the teen section. When I was 13, teen mags were a big deal, and I religiously bought Smash Hits, Top of the Pops, Bliss, Sugar and Seventeen (that one was a little racy, looking back). I can’t begin to explain how much I learned from them. Any question too mortifying to ask my mum was answered in the problem pages. Their features were fun and helpful, the beauty and fashion pages inspiring. And, of course, there were posters to plaster around my room. Now, all but one of those titles are gone.
When I was 22, I was lucky enough to score my first job as a journalist on Ireland’s teen magazine Kiss. The title came a little late for me as a reader, but I spent four years passing the information gleaned from my own adolescence on to Irish youth.
I didn’t realise it at the time, but as a writer Kiss was the most satisfying experience I’ve ever had and am ever likely to have. We gave the young women of Ireland advice and offered them an ear, and in return they were as ardent as could be. Nothing was more rewarding than posting that month’s cover to Facebook or Bebo, and watching as the delighted comments rolled. We LOLed, we OMGed and we had a ball.
Sadly, a couple of years ago Kiss closed its doors, and the youth of today are worse off without it and its counterparts.
We know that teens are attached to their phones, raised with a mobile in hand and near-constant internet access. We know that vloggers and social-media influencers are their obsession, and of course new media has its place.
However, young women, in particular, need something local and colloquial to guide them in ways parents and peers can’t – and they don’t get that by following Kylie Jenner on Instagram or watching Buzzfeed’s channel on Snapchat.
The internet is a global information source, and perhaps today’s young women are exposed to more than I was at that age: politics, feminism, world news and, er, celebrities sniping at each other on social media.
But I wish they still had content just for them: quizzes, Photoshop-free beauty shoots, stickers to collect, agony aunts to consult, features to digest.
I see the need most evidently when it comes to make-up. As beauty editor of Kiss, I was tasked with bringing the inside knowledge on cosmetics and skincare to our readers, from perfecting their eyeliner flicks to coping with acne. Our ethos was “less is more” – use make-up to bring out your best features, not to mask what you consider your worst.
At the Longitude festival a couple of weeks ago, most of the young women I encountered were plastered in make-up inches thick, emulating their Instagram idols. There’s nothing wrong with experimenting or self-expression, but whatever happened to championing freckles or demonstrating a fresh-faced look?
Sure, wearing false lashes is fun, but feeling like you need them to be beautiful is not.
Writing off teen magazines is worrying, as is nonspecific clickbait online. These mags were more than just entertainment; they were education in disguise. We have the fantastic Spunout.ie as a source of information for our youth, but what about the fun stuff? Where has the desire for that gone?
I live in hope that the day will come when traditional media is cool again, because I want young women to learn about the hair down there (and other thorny issues) from a reputable, relatable source.
And, of course, to know the joy of covering their schoolbooks in Smash Hit stickers.