See Jane fold

The reason I do what I do is no more: Condé Nast is shuttering Jane magazine. Unlike other fallen mags, Jane won’t even see a life online.

The writers at Jane are the reason I got myself into this underpaid mess known as journalism. (Although granted, it's a far cry from where I am now--and now I'll never be able to recoup that loss. Sniff.) I wanted to possess their wit, frankness and penchant for snark (which, yes, actually existed before Gawker).

Even as a youngin' completely unknowledgeable of media dynamics, I was well aware of Jane's digressions the from mainstream: I subscribed to Jane because rather than badgering my impressionable teenage mind with 10 Ways To Lose Weight Fast!, Jane hosted columns called “Eat” and, unlike other women’s magazines, didn’t spew the usual drivel in their celebrity profiles (I particularly recall the Britney interview as a killer). You just can’t find that today—even in the magazine’s reincarnation under Brandon Holley, who replaced founding editor Jane Pratt after she left in 2005. (In fact, during my last mani/pedi, I read the issue with Zooey Deschenal on the cover, and while I appreciated the effort, the overall feeling was bleh.)

Which is why I’m ambivalent about Jane folding. Its glory days were over a long time ago, having succumbed to that wily devil otherwise known as Corporate America. I’m just a little sad at having lost the one magazine I once aspired to, as well as having one less semi-decent non-Cosmo-ish magazine on the rack to read. (Nylon, here I come.)

Once I win the lottery, I’ll be sure to restore Jane—and maybe even Sassy—to all its former radness. Until then, RIP.