Who are these guys talking to? It’s addressed to me. It falls through my mail slot. It gets carried into my kitchen by my dog in exchange for a cookie. But when I open it up, someone seems to be talking to somebody else.
The mail carrier gets to read the best part of the letter before I do.
Good thing they told me. I’d never have guessed.
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But I don’t get too many letters lately, and I’m a man who likes letters. So I read on. I read about the 12 fat issues for $7.97. I read about the owner who is famous for publishing great magazines. I read about how Esquire is even better than I remember.
It seems Esquire has me mixed up with somebody else, somebody even younger than my sons. A third generation, they say, your generation and mine, which gathers every month to “learn how to get more out of life.”
Esquire wants to add to my fun. Tell me where to shed my stress. Mountain hideaways, seashore spas, places like that. Wants to tell me why I should try Silver Oak’s ’85 cabernet next time I want a steak. Huh?
So Esquire now defines itself as being for the literate if not the literary, and for the intelligent if not the intellectual. In other words for those weenies who like to think they’re just as smart as anyone else, only humbler since they’ve never troubled to prove it. And if this sounds like you, says Esquire, you can extend your savings by subscribing for 24 months and save a whopping $44.06.
