The New York Review of Magazines

Lucky

By Karla Lightfoot

JUST as there are magazines for tennis, golf and skiing, Lucky is the magazine for an equally avid sport—shopping. Lucky: The Magazine About Shopping advocates the art of acquisition, and it delivers exactly what its tagline promises—no articles, just page after page of shopping tips. I love to shop, but I have very mixed feelings about Lucky, for reasons I’ll explain after bringing the magazine’s phenomenal success story up-to-date.

Since its debut in December 2000, this is a magazine that has been more than just lucky. According to its owner, Condé Nast, it has become profitable faster than any other new magazine in the company’s recent history. In 2003, the number of its ad pages increased by 46 percent, and its revenues rose to $16 million from $7.6 million the previous year. The first issue had a circulation of about 500,000 and by December 2003, it had grown to nearly 900,000. And last October, Advertising Age named Lucky its Magazine of the Year.

Lucky has established itself as a trendsetter. Hearst Corporation, Condé Nast’s arch-rival, is planning a counterattack with its own shopping magazine, Shop Etc., scheduled for a fall debut. In the meantime, Condé Nast is not standing still. To much fanfare, it has just launched a version for men called, Cargo. And Fairchild Publications (owned by Advance Publications, which is also the parent company of Condé Nast) is planning to publish Vitals, yet another men’s shopping magazine (a spinoff from Details, the company’s lifestyle and fashion magazine for men).

Lucky has achieved this success by providing a range of fashion options rather than mandates, and by glamorizing the clothes and accessories rather than highlighting ultra-thin models. The publication used to shun the use of celebrities on the cover, but, as editor Kim France told Advertising Age, she has recently been giving star power a try to keep from being cast adrift in a sea of magazines.

The magazine is divided logically, into three sections: fashion, beauty and lifestyle. As you flip through the magazine, colors, shapes and fabrics are meant to jump off of the page, catch your eye and persuade you to hand over your credit card. The captions, too, are aimed at enticing you to buy. “Tennis accents look fresh for spring—even if you don’t play,” says one page. Another: “Corduroy jackets are so fun this fall and the choices range from classic to funky.” Although the focus is on the latest, most trendy products, low-, mid- and high-level price options are always provided. The magazine even supplies “YES!” and “MAYBE?” stickers to tag potential purchases.

All of this ingenuity shows that Lucky is a well-conceived, well-edited and welldesigned magazine that fulfills its mission effectively. Why, then, do I have mixed emotions about it? While I cannot fault Lucky for remaining true to its purpose, I am very disturbed by a magazine that perpetuates consumerism so overtly. While Vogue, Elle and other fashion magazines make us dream about having the money to buy some of the fabulous designer clothes that lay inside, Lucky offers a realistic opportunity to spend, spend and spend again. Like much of the American public, I am already up to my ears in debt. And for me, subscribing to Lucky is like giving candy to a baby.

According to figures from the Federal Reserve Board, American consumer debt has risen to the alarming level of almost $2 trillion for the first time in history. That figure, which does not include mortgages but represents credit-card and car-loan debt, translates to about $18,700 per household. The total creditcard debt alone is $735 billion, with the estimated household debt of those who carry balances averaging $12,000.

Yes, I enjoy shopping and I enjoy what Lucky has to offer. It has become one of my guilty pleasures. And aren’t guilty pleasures one of the things that make life fabulous? Like the French fries that you shouldn’t eat while you’re on a diet, or the puff of the cigarette you took after years of having quit, Lucky’s pages are filled with irresistible temptations. And no, I’m not saying that you should eliminate these pleasures from your life completely, but at some point it becomes the consumer’s responsibility to exercise selfcontrol. I know I need to restrain myself from adding to my own debt—and the country’s. Does that mean Lucky is reckless and irresponsible for producing this sort of magazine? I can’t say that. But I can say that it contributes to our desire to accumulate more, in a society where more never seems to be enough.

If you are truly lucky enough to have endless amounts of disposable cash, or a fairy godmother that pays your credit-card bills, Lucky may be for you. If not, beware of this magazine that encourages its readers to buy, buy, and buy again.