The Glossy Years: Magazines, Museums and Selective Memoirs

by Nicholas Coleridge

Colderidge's story is the story of the people who populate the glamorous world of glossy magazines. With relish and astonishing candour, he offers the inside scoop on Tina Brown and Anna Wintour, David Bowie and Philip Green, Kate Moss and Beyonce; on Margaret Thatcher's clothes legacy, and a surreal weekend away with Bob Geldof and William Hague. Cara Delevingne, media tycoons, Prime Ministers, Princes, Mayors and Maharajas - all cross his path.

His career in magazines straddles the glossies throughout their glorious zenith - from the 1970s, 1980s and 1990s to the digital iterations of the 21st century. Having cut his teeth on Tatler, and as Editor-in-Chief of Harpers & Queen, he became the Mr Big of glossy publishing for three decades and this is his story from his privileged upbringing through his illustrious career in magazine publishing.

Genres: Biography, Nonfiction, Fashion, Autobiography, Memoir

400 pages, Paperback

Published November 1, 2020

About the author

Nicholas David Coleridge CBE is the Managing Director of the magazine publishing house Condé Nast in Britain. He was awarded the 1982 prize for British Press Awards Young Journalist of the Year when he was a columnist at the Evening Standard, and the Mark Boxer Lifetime Achievement Award for magazine journalism by the British Society of Magazine Editors in 2001.

He has written twelve books, both fiction and non-fiction, based largely upon either his professional life (The Fashion Conspiracy, Paper Tigers, With Friends Like These) or social novels (Godchildren, A Much Married Man, "Deadly Sins"). He has been Chairman of the PPA - the magazine publishers' association - and Chairman of the British Fashion Council. He was founding Chairman of Fashion Rocks, the fashion and rock music annual extravaganza, which has raised more than £3 million to date for the Prince's Trust charity. He was on the Advisory Board for the Concert for Diana, Wembley Stadium 2007. He has been a member of the Council of the Royal College of Art, and a member of the Trading Board of the Prince's Trust and is Deputy Chairman of The Campaign for Wool, 2009-. He is a Director of PressBof, the parent organisation of the Press Complaints Commission. As a journalist, he has been an irregular contributor to the Daily and Sunday Telegraph, The Spectator and the Financial Times.

He is the great-great-great-great-great nephew of the poet, Samuel Taylor Coleridge. He was educated at Eton College and Trinity College, Cambridge where he studied Theology and History of Art.

He is married to the author and children's book reviewer Georgia Metcalfe. His enthusiasms include India and Indian art, gardening, sunbathing, hillwalking and photography.

Reviews

[Petra X · Rating 1 out of 5]

I put this to one side in January, but now it's July and I've finally admitted defeat. Reading about truly entitled people, aristocracy, to whom the rules of life - getting into university, going to interviews, getting a job, needing money, planning a week's holiday and saving up, simply don't apply.

A lot of these people from their tiny, exclusive and ruling class had their country estates maintained from the profits of slavery, or their ancestors enriched by it - the ancestors of George Orwell, Graham Greene, Ben Affleck, David Cameron, Ainsley Harriott (the Black tv chef!) and the author Nicholas Coleridge included. Their families benefited not just directly from slavery but from the abolition of it. Those who owned slaves were compensated to the tune of between £16bn and £17bn in today's money. (This debt was not paid off to the Bank of England until 2015, meaning that living British people's taxes paid for the ending of slavery). The slaves when 'freed' had to work for 45 hours a week without pay for another 4 years. They were not compensated. And these families continue to be at the top of the social tree still benefitting from the wealth and position. (There is a searchable database to look up names to see if their forebears were slaveholders.

I do not believe that the crimes of one's ancestors should mean any guilt should be borne by their descendents, that's ridiculous, but they do enjoy still the fruits of that time. The wealth, privilege, connections and position acquired or enhanced then continues to this day. It means getting into top universities without having to pass the entrance exam (the author), without having to pass the finals to get a degree (the author), getting into publishing because of connections (the author) etc. So I don't blame the author, i would have taken advantage of all those things too. BUT...

BUT... these are the only people he writes about in this book. And their privilege has given them superiority complexes which the author enjoys celebrating.

This book got progressively more and more unreadable. It is about the very wealthy, aristocratic, "smart set" (never say posh, they'd laugh at you, sneer probably, as that's soooo middle-class) giving each other jobs, eating in the best places, being seen at the right gallery openings, taking photos of each other for the magazines they read, and caring more about money and grandeur than morals. It is ok to pal up to fascists, friends of Hitler if they give you a good lunch in a magnificent house. It is ok to slag off the 'models' in the men's clubs but praise the drug addicts in your own social set.

"Shallow", "shite" and "superficial" and "scam" are words that came to mind. But that's ok, isn't it Nicholas, because the book wasn't meant for me, or anyone not in your 'smart set'. You said so, talking about a magazine you worked on. You said it was the plebs that buy it, that fund it, but really it is for the celebrated people who fill the magazine with pics from all the parties and social events that are the main features of the publication. We just gawp from the stalls at all the glamorous people in the boxes in the dress circle, while you and your friends entertain yourselves by pointing each other out in the photographs and who did and who didn't get a mention.

The author has not just a very wealthy and illustrious family behind him, but has many achievements in his career, and since some of them are connected with business, obviously he has been genuinely successful. He was a really good columnist at one time, I remember some of his writings. So I don't dislike the author at all, rather I have a lot of admiration for him. But not in this book.

Would he have got anywhere without his family, without the education he did not qualify for, without the connections? I doubt it, it's all right place at the right time and saying hello to all the family and friends of and that's what the part of the book I read was about, and I couldn't take any more of it.

2 star, reduced to 1 because he didn't seem to think it was a problem enjoying time with people who supported Hitler.

[Barry Pierce · Rating 1 out of 5]

completely insufferable

[rachel kerr · Rating 2 out of 5]

This was just one massive name drop. I wanted to read it because I loved The Fashion Conspiracy, but was just bored by the whole thing. It was just a lesson in what being born into a wealthy family and going to the right schools gets you.

[Namera [The Literary Invertebrate] · Rating 3 out of 5]

⤅ I both loved reading this book, and hated what it stands for.

Bear with me here, because this review might get a little self-indulgent at times. Apologies in advance.

I don't often read nonfiction, but when I do, it often becomes one of my favourite books. Case in point: The English Public School - An Irreverent and Personal History, a highly entertaining history of schools like Eton and Harrow which gave me hours of reading joy. Likewise To Set the Record Straight: The Break-In, the Tapes, the Conspirators, the Pardon, the memoirs of Judge Sirica from the Watergate trials, which is one my best-loved comfort reads. I like settling down with a well-written and engaging nonfiction book on something I'm interested in, as much as I love my trashy romances.

Does America have a Tatler magazine? I don't think so. It's part of the Conde Nast family which also owns Vogue, and essentially it's a gossip magazine for the British elite: the aristocrats, the royals, the foreign oligarchs. To be honest, it's kind of insane for us normal people - Vice has done some pretty entertaining articles on how crazy Tatler is, which I recommend you read if you need a bit of a laugh. Now, I do read Tatler: not of course because I'm anywhere near the target audience (people who read articles like '10 Mansions on Sale Right Now'), but because a) it's a surreal insight into how the other half live and b) I'm an amateur aristocratic genealogist, and my subjects are often the ones cavorting on the magazine's pages. So a few days ago, I watched the excellent BBC documentary Posh People, which came out in 2014 (you can find it on DailyMotion) and in it, they interviewed Nicholas Coleridge, who at the time was President of Conde Nast.

One thing led to another, I discovered he'd published his memoirs a couple of years ago, and I decided to read them in the hope of juicy tidbits about the rich and famous. Largely, I was disappointed. Coleridge is careful not to say anything negative about anyone; the book is a collection of surprisingly shallow observations and insights about his life, the publishing world, and people he's met. By 'shallow' I don't mean regarding surface appearances. I mean he doesn't go into much depth about his emotional responses to things. His tactic is to drop an anecdote into the narrative ('Princess Diana asked me if her breasts were too small!') and then move on swiftly, without discussing repercussions or feelings. It makes the book feel like a collection of tangentially related stories compiled into one nonlinear whole. Stiff upper lip? He's nailed it.

Coleridge himself is also... kind of the embodiment of the person against whom working-class or middle-class people rail. Born in the 50s to a pair of wealthy members of the gentry (and a descendant of Samuel Taylor Coleridge), his upbringing is a mishmash of prep school, Eton, and Cambridge - all of which he academically struggled to get into originally, but the culture of the late-20th century makes it easy for him to skate blithely in on his connections. His childhood features manor houses in the country, flats in the good part of London. One of his grandmothers is a titled aristocrat - the daughter of a baron. While he's at prep school, he befriends future MPs; at Eton it's the son of a duke, the future mother of the Delevigne sisters, etc. When he graduates he seems to fall effortlessly into a job working for a newspaper, and from there he works himself up to the highest position.

Almost all the people he met as a child seem to have ended up as rich and famous, somehow. He's friends with Roald Dahl's daughter Tessa, whose son Ned - Coleridge's godson - has just married a Jordanian princess. Two of his other godchildren are world-famous supermodels. The book, at its worst, is a relentless collection of name-dropping. And he even tells you why he does it: his first editor told him that name-dropping sells. But for a book, rather than an article, it becomes a transparent and grating ploy. Every big break he got in life seems to have been purely down to luck and connections. No wonder the top-rated review on this book is scathing; the book deserves to be scathed.

And yet. Coleridge is just self-deprecating enough to put himself, I think, on the right side of criticism. Barely. But he manages it. He drops in little comments - such as the fact that, in her entire life, his mother has moved no more than 100 yards from the glamorous London townhouse she was born in - which make you think he really realises how privileged and narrow his world is. He's wry, and humorous, in the restrained way we British tend to prefer. I didn't mind that his book is surprisingly unemotional for a memoir; that's the way I prefer it. Possibly very counter to the American style... but a commentary on the differences I've experienced between Americans and British people would take me another half-an-hour to write, so I won't.

Coleridge seems, ultimately, happy. He's still with his first wife and seems to adore his children. All his boyhood friends are still his friends, and have been for upwards of 40 years. I can't deny that regardless of his connections, he's worked hard on things. Sure, the book has fewer insights into publishing than I'd expected, but it's still a fun and easy read.

[Jill Meyer · Rating 5 out of 5]

Okay, Here's the thing. I can't give you - an average American reader - a reason to buy and read British author Nicholas Coleridge's new book "The Glossy Years: Magazines, Museums, and Selected Memoirs". Except for the fact that Coleridge - now in his middle 60's - has led a very interesting life and is an excellent writer. He's known as a glossy magazine executive for Conde Nast, the director of London's Victoria and Albert Museum, and the author of six or so novels, most of which are about the British upper and middle classes. He novels show an almost pitch-perfect look at both those aspiring and those who have already made it.

This book, "The Glossy Years", is mainly about his career at Conde Nast and the - um - "personalities" he's met along the way, both at work and in society. About half were names I didn't recognise but I found they were interesting to read about. And Nick Coleridge is not a mean writer; he really has nice things to write about everyone in the book. No real secrets are revealed - oh, Princess Diana's breast size is discussed a bit - but then Diana makes almost everyone's memoirs of the last forty years.

Anybody familiar with my reading habits sort of knows that I'm both a "British Royals Junkie", as well as a "Demented Brit Junkie". I have known and read about more "Demented Brits" than almost anyone else from the hinterlands of the United States has a right to. And, amazingly, Nicholas Coleridge's memoirs are about fairly normal Brits who have managed to pop up between the demented ones and stayed sane. His book is delightful reading, but I can't blame anyone for not being interested in the subject. If you're not interested in the memoir, look for his novels.

[Dee Mcgee · Rating 3 out of 5]

It’s like reading about old fashioned posh celebrities as opposed to today’s trashy celebrities.

[Susan Wright · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is someone who has been hugely successful in his role: working very hard; managing big egos; meeting lots of famous people. But this book is actually about the elite in UK. I am pleased the author recognises how lucky he is, although it doesn't quite touch on how lucky he is. He didn't pass his Common Entrance exam to Eton: don't worry, a bed (And door) will be held open for you. A decision to apply to Cambridge involved finding an easy course to get into (His not my words). It involved a 45 minute chat and a sherry. Apparently it was much easier to get into Oxbridge then. Yes, if you were well connected and an old Etonian. For mere mortals you had to have outstanding exam results, do an extra term at school where you took an entrance exam and hoped there were places available that hadn't been nabbed by fast tracked elite public school boys. Even when he didn't sit his finals his connections meant he didn't have to retake the year. I know from a family friend who was online for a 2i and was seriously ill, had to retake his final year - clearly he was below the salt and couldn't be trusted.... connections meant he met the right people, conversations and didn't have to worry about where the next month's rent was coming from. The book reads like a who's who, with name dropping if the powerful and elite, all connected via school, university or friends. The author finally actually applied for something- the V and A chairman, only to be reassured that a govt minister was gunning for him and this has to be approved by govt. Oh to have connections and sponsors in high places. It is fascinating from that perspective and anyone who was heartbroken by the BBC documentary "how to get into the Elite" where super talented candidates missed out on top opportunities will see how this really works. But please don't think I am against the author; he is clearly very good at his roles and has made a lot of contributions to the V and A museum.

[Robin · Rating 3 out of 5]

I found Nicholas Coleridge's memoir a profoundly informative social commentary about the lives led by the glossy people of a somewhat enclosed privileged world. As such, the name dropping is less aggravating than could be the case. Indeed, it is so enlightening that, together with Coleridge's charming writing, self deprecation and admission that luck played a large place in his life this Labour/Labor supporting reader forgave his Toriness and went along for the ride. Perhaps part of my willingness to do so is that Coleridge, as Chairman, was part of a panel that supported a Labour member's application to head the Victoria and Albert Museum. A photo of him with Jeremy Corbyn is also something that amused me - how would Jeremy have felt about that? It is far less sad than the anecdote about Princess Diana, who when seated next to him at a dinner, asked whether he thought her breasts too small. The photo of her leaving the function shows a beautiful woman who, together with her contribution to changing attitudes towards AIDS and work in other aspects of public life, should have been immune to such worries. But, perhaps Coleridge, with his bevy of godchildren, spiritual healer wife and happy family, lover of India and his numerous trips there may have been a comfortable shoulder to rely on?

Despite his somewhat cool approach to the deaths of several colleagues and friends, Coleridge comes across as a person, who within the constraints of his class, attempts to provide that shoulder for his friends, family, and it appears, his professional contacts. The constraints of his class is what makes this book an illuminating commentary on that class. It is easy to see how the disastrous aspects of Tory policies, such as austerity, really do pass such people by. Coleridge talks of his luck at the end of the book, but, while acknowledging this seems profoundly unaware of what other people's bad luck can do to them. He is so closely involved with his glossies, a world of its own, that to him Fashion Week, advertising accounts, the success of a magazine means more than any foray into a world outside might mean.

Where he does move outside that world, children in India tapping on the windows of his car, are briefly acknowledged. That they are tapping for sustenance (or goods to give to their employers in exchange for their meagre livelihood) seems to pass him by. But that is my own social conscience talking.

Moving forward to where perhaps a more legitimate criticism can be made, the world of glossies and museums was amusingly related. As Managing Director of British Conde Nast for thirty years and President of Conde Nast International his stories of editors' rise and demise; efforts to maintain the glossies afloat and resist takeovers; enacting takeovers; aspects of interviews he conducted and attended were interesting. However, to me they lacked the depth that I had wanted when I bought this book. Conde Nast published 130 magazines, including Vogue, Vanity Fair, Tatler, House and Garden and GQ; Coleridge had been a journalist, and editor before his major promotions. However, the detail on the Victoria and Albert Museum seemed to me more impressively drawn than the world of the glossies, that depended so much on the name dropping -fun, but not enough to make up for the lack of 'nitty, gritty' information.

And, now to Dicken's Dotheboy Hall reference to Coleridge's early schooldays . This section was well worth reading; with its aside to sexual harassment (deflected neatly, but reflected in the care Coleridge took in choosing his children's' schooling), his admission to Eton and years there.

I have to admit to being pleased that I did not pay full price for The Glossy Years Magazines, Museums and Selective Memoirs. However, I also have to admit being drawn willingly into a world that reflects so much I dislike, but under Coleridge's deft touch was understandably alluring to so many readers and reviewers. And, at times, me.

[Gillian · Rating 5 out of 5]

Gossipy and stylish, as you might expect, sharpened by fascinating insights into the very hard-headed strategy that makes the top glossy magazines so successful. Also Nicholas Coleridge seems like a rather nice chap, rather than a reptilian journalist type.

[Jenny · Rating 1 out of 5]

No real insight, just a lot of name dropping

[Charli · Rating 1 out of 5]

AWFUL the worst book to ever be written every word is a stain on humanity I would rather DIE than read Coleridge brag about his life for one more second, he is honestly talented to write a book that makes me hate him even more than is possible every copy deserves to burnt to save us from the tragedy that is the glossy years.

[Susan · Rating 5 out of 5]

Great book. I especially loved the self-deprecating and wry sense of English humor with which the author used (mostly to describe himself). He's had quite a busy life!

[Vicky Ball · Rating 3 out of 5]

I think you need to be posh and well connected to appreciate this book!

[Fee Stocker · Rating 4 out of 5]

(3.5 ⭐️) By nature there is a distinct air of ‘how the other half live’ but, get over it - I’m a 17-years-and-counting Vogue subscriber, which might have given me a leg up - and you’ll really enjoy it. Fascinating and fun.

[Evelyn · Rating 2 out of 5]

Only gave this 2 stars as I was interested in what he had to say about Peopleton a village where I also live, otherwise I would have given up after the first few chapters.

[Nancy Thomsen · Rating 5 out of 5]

Gorgeous years

What a lovely life NC has had and was able to tell us about it in his own words. The cast of characters reads like a fantasy - he has met everyone worth meeting. And from a prominent position. He travels ... he dines with royalty ... and the narrative is interesting and engaging. It is a good reas.

[Marin · Rating 2 out of 5]

A self-congratulatory CV of Nicholas Coleridge, the happy, hardworking, incredibly successful toff, President of Condé Nast International, Chairman of the Victoria and Albert Museum and of several other organisations and committees, friend and helper of royalty, etc. etc.
Somehow, he found the time to write more than ten successful books as well. This one is a flat affair, there are some interesting bits of autobiographical details including self-deprecating commentary of the life of the conservative elite, but it is mostly a litany of names, of thousands of relatives, friends, politicians, artists, and other celebrities famous for no discernible reasons.
All of them get a few appreciative lines except Mohamed al Fayed and Philip Green, both of them outcasted now. The only pieces of gossip are reserved for Diana and William Haig, but these mild “exposes” were publicly known well before the publishing of this book.
As there are so many people and events in his life to be enumerated, nothing is presented in detail, and we do not learn how he became so successful, why some publishers are better than others or why some magazines succeed when others don’t.
Maybe the secret of success in the hollow world of gloss consists in being a very well-connected elitist, excelling at networking among the powerful and famous, being charming and wittier than the mute models, putting a photo of a skinny, gorgeous, young celebrity on the front page, being a little snobbish and smug in your comments, but not too much to alienate the targeted audience, portraying the certain hauteur of a self-appointed, sharply opinionated style guru, and most of all being lucky.
Or maybe not, what do I know of this business? - The book didn’t make me any wiser regarding the inner works of fashion magazines or the hoity-toity establishment.
Nevertheless, the author must be admired – he achieved much more than many others dream to, and his glossy imprint might even be seen in the new look and success of V&A exhibitions, now the museum arm of the Vogue empire.

[Malcolm Watson · Rating 4 out of 5]

A well written and interesting memoir of Nicholas' time in the magazine business.
He has met everyone, and I mean everyone and yet maintains a low profile and tells it as it is and never brags.
The story of his life is fascinating and never stalls; he became the Number one in two major corporations and treat us to insider stories & information.
I thoroughly enjoyed this peak inside the world of " The Glossies!

[Debbi Barton · Rating 2 out of 5]

I've just realised that I haven't bought Hello magazine in over a decade, I used to devour it in one sitting on a weekly basis. Reading the Glossy Years made me remember why I no longer enjoy the mag. I don't really want to read another story of someone's wonderful entitled privileged upbringing and about who they know and not what they know. There was no substance to the book and I would hardly call the most entertaining book of the year - quote from the Sunday Times.

[Reb Arch · Rating 5 out of 5]

Thoroughly enjoyed this book! It's not high brow, but it is entertaining. An unfiltered insight into how the other half live.

Think the people who give it bad reviews here are a bit jealous. I am not upper class myself, but enjoyed his honesty and learning about a different world

[Nick Sanders]

A very pleasant and amiable book about the career of Nicholas Coleridge. Also quite superficial and not revealing anything of interest. Don't think you'll learn anything of substance about the world of glossy mags.

[Matt Whittingham · Rating 4 out of 5]

While Coleridge's undoubtedly charmed life may ruffle some, his general affability, combined with a first-hand account of magazine publishing's golden years, proves a thoroughly enjoyable read / listen.

[Sarah K · Rating 3 out of 5]

Interesting, if you're obsessed with fashion and the publishing industry. Not my favourite in this genre (far preferred Alexandra Shulman and Tina Brown's similar books) but worth a read.

[Alison Short · Rating 3 out of 5]

Interesting memoir of a privileged man, who seemed to have positions thrown at him throughout his career. Dropping names of the rich and famous who inhabit the world of glossy magazines.

[Zandra · Rating 5 out of 5]

There is a lot of name dropping. But Coleridge is such a shrewd, generous, appreciative judge of others and there is much joy, zest and wisdom in the way he collaborates with others to do ground-breaking work, I didn't mind the name dropping. Actually, I found the endless stories about famous people somewhat amazing, pleasantly envy-making, exhausting and exhilarating. Ultimately, Coleridge values talent and hard work, his own and others, over entitlement, ease and narrow-minded snobbery. Nicholas wants everyone to come to his parties: anyone creative, talented, hard working and fun.

Why does one person get to live such a full, successful and rich life? Coleridge says 'yes' to every new job-offer, 'yes' to any brain-wave of our current King, and 'yes' to any occasion to attend a party (usually four a night), make a speech or secure business in some far-flung country. He seems to be without malice or spite, he does not dwell on worries, he takes on huge challenges and risks massive failures without a murmur of self-doubt.

'The Glossy Years' aptly describes the decades of the 70s, 80s and 90s and Nicholas led the way with the burgeoning industry of glossy magazines. The sale-inducing appeal of Princess Diana helped considerably. This is the story of how the whole world ended up wanting to buy the glamour offered by the pages of these magazines. So this book also read like a fascinating social history of the times I am aware have now passed. The dominance now of smart phones means only the very best glossies can survive and no new brands will be established.

Sometimes I found the bohemian, amoral, often self-destructive world of the rich and famous a bit too alien to my moral, socially conservative outlook. Coleridge describes all the outlandish antics with relish for the oddity, creative energy and glamour. Yet he always contrasts such passages with descriptions of the importance of his wife, four children and long-term friends: so very stable, loving and grounded. He loves glossy magazines with their gorgeous models and low-brow topics but he also loves the heritage and culture of the great civilizations of history: British, Indian, Islamic and so on. He loves status, wealth and luxury, but he also likes to 'slum' it when he travels to India, Turkey, wherever. He loves parties and constantly meeting new people but he also likes to retreat into his remote country estate to write novels.

I think Coleridge's prep school years were very damaging, and he gives the interesting suggestion that a hard childhood can be the impetus to later hard work and success. He makes light of the sexual abuse he experienced, and this seems to have been his way of dealing with any difficulties throughout his life: make light of them, just get on with your own thing and don't worry. The impact of boarding from a young age was certainly formative, and was good and bad, depending on how you look at it.

[Alastair Carthew]

Nicholas Coleridge writes with the confidence of his famous namesake to produce a memoir of rare wit. Throughout, Coleridge's turn of phrase transforms what could be a boring passage into something that, well, could be found in a glossy magazine. For someone of obvious outsized talent, the writer is nicely modest about his achievements in the cutthroat world of glossy magazines. I enjoyed reading the dozens of famous names Coleridge casually mentions as part of his workday life. Tina Brown, Harold Evans, supermodels galore, not to mention the cream of English aristocracy. Coleridge moved in a rare world but seems to have travelled without ego or conflict. His love of India (over 80 trips) is obvious, as is his emphasis on the importance of a strong family life (which he obviously has) that contributes to his success. A good memoir that received deserved praise. I have not read any of his books (where did he find the time?) but if they are written in the same self-deprecating, humorous vein, I will seek one out.

[Katy Wheatley · Rating 5 out of 5]

This was great fun. I love reading about lives that are very different to my own and I love a bit of glitz and glamour and splendid, party people. This book has all that in spades. Coleridge writes about his, rather blessed, life and all the great and good and general hob-nobbing that goes with running glossy magazines and jetting around the world. It is clear that he worked very hard and was obviously rather good at his job, but that he also enjoyed himself immensely. It's rather like reading an extremely posh version of Hello magazine from time to time and I am here for that.

[Denise · Rating 4 out of 5]

I have looked at this book on the shelf for too long! Finally reading it, I enjoyed the world of magazines and newspapers that Coleridge describes. Of course there are footnotes to the rich and famous he has met, but isn't that expected in a book about Conde Nast? It is entertaining, enjoyable and an interesting account of magazine life. I also enjoyed the history. I remember so many of the Harpers and Vogue editors from the 80s and 90s.

[Jack · Rating 3 out of 5]

Interesting read, I didn't fully understand all of it as I'm not familiar with some of the things he references and talks about. I found the book a bit self-indulgent at times, but enjoyed it nonetheless.

[Rick Bach · Rating 2 out of 5]

A slightly guilty pleasure for me: an amiable, sometimes very funny, but always skindeep memoir by the new provost of Eton College, describing his highly successful career in the magazine industry, which, it seemed to me, largely involved being very jolly, hanging around the "right" sort of posh people and being good at getting up early in the morning.