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has long been one of my favourite TV chefs and food writers, not just because of what she cooks, but because of the wonderfully unconventional way she built he…

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Who’s seen Devil Wears Prada 2? What did you think?

I enjoyed it. It’s fun and glamorous, (Lake Como has never looked better,) and Stanley Tucci’s Nigel still deserves his own spin-off.

But I didn’t qu…

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One of my favourite podcasts is Rosebud, hosted by the brilliant Gyles Brandreth. It’s loosely built around people’s earliest memories (if you’ve seen Citizen Kane you’ll know why it’s called that,) …

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As you might remember, I absolutely loved my recent mini-break …

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Throughout my entire career I’ve tried to live my best mood board life.

It didn’t start brilliantly.

In the early nineties, I became a lawyer because I fancied myself as Ally McBeal. Pe…

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I’m just back from a breakfast hosted by the British Society of Magazine Editors and the room at London’s beautiful Rosewood hotel was packed.

Seriously – I haven’t seen an event this well attended since they hosted media legend Tina Brown for a fireside chat. I sat next to a guy who had come all the way from Brighton, a 90 minute drive away, which American friends, might seem down the road to you, but here in the UK, it shows serious commitment - he didn’t come all that way for the croissants and cheese board.

The purpose of the breakfast was to discuss the secrets of building successful newsletters and this room full of editors and senior media executives was paying close attention.

Some, like me, were there because we run personal Substacks. Almost everyone I spoke to muttered that they’d been reading news stories about people coming off social media and wondered what it means for brands and creative careers.

For years now, creatives - particularly authors - have been told the same thing: you must be active on social media.

Post regularly. Grow your numbers. Engage, engage, engage.

Influencers have been scoring major book deals for years.

Publishers like authors with vast followings.

Big numbers are good numbers.

The logic is simple: if you already have an audience and in-built marketing, you’re a safer bet.

Which is why so many writers endure the posting slog, even if it’s done reluctantly.

Over the past few months several writer friends who, like myself, don’t especially love social media, have admitted to hiring digital marketing consultants to help them build reels, understand analytics, and try to make the algorithm fall in love with them.

It’s proactive for sure, but suddenly it doesn’t look so good a long term investment if people are deleting their Instagram accounts.

According to breakfast panellist Jenni Allen, Content Director of Which magazine, diversifying our marketing efforts away from the likes of Twitter or Instagram is no bad thing.

‘People are only just realising how important it is to own their own platforms. Speaking directly to our audiences is ever more important in a world where AI has obliterated search, and with social media – you are only ever renting that connection with your readers. Too many people have found out that if a platform changes its algorithm, a creator’s income can be decimated.’

Which is one reason why newsletters have become a marketing buzz word in 2026.

Newsletters are not new, they’re just making sense again.

In the face of content overload, readers don’t want everything.

They want something that feels written for them.

The very best newsletters are so good at this, at creating connection and belonging.

Hop over to Sophia Amoruso’s newsletter and feel like a fellow #girlboss.

India Knight’s Home Substack reads like a cosy chat around her kitchen table.

Heather Cox Richardson’s ‘stack’ feels like a personal invitation into the library of an Ivy League college.

This idea of invitation is key to powerful marketing in 2026.

One of my favourite fashion brands Sézane, (a company that actually started as a newsletter,) has long understood that people don’t want to be sold to constantly. Instead, they create moments; carefully timed drops, beautifully told stories, gorgeous physical spaces, community events.

You don’t scroll Sézane endlessly.

You turn up to one of their pop-up shops , or buy something that arrives in a beautifully presented box, and feel, well, like cool, French girl.

The music industry learnt the lesson of invitation earlier than most.

Radiohead famously released In Rainbows on a Pay What You Want basis, not as a stunt, but as a gesture of trust.

Today, thousands of musicians lean into listening parties, memberships, limited releases and intimate gigs in fun locations. They’re not hustling, they are asking what might be worth showing up for.

So what does a coherent marketing strategy actually look like for an author or creative now?

Probably not a slightly frantic Instagram post of a lukewarm flat white, photographed next to a notebook you haven’t opened yet, uploaded purely because the app has convinced you that disappearing for 24 hours is a career-ending move.

Instead, think about the following…

Create a niche newsletter

Write your newsletter for a very specific reader. Don’t target everyone who you think might like books. The magic happens when you choose a narrow lane and own it.

One essay a week on gothic houses. Short notes on writing while parenting. Nature writing for people who live in the city. A monthly letter about grief or ambition.

When readers know exactly what they’ll get and why only you can give it to them, they stay. And when you want to plug your next book on your newsletter, it doesn’t feel like marketing.

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When Amol Rajan announced this morning that he was stepping away from the Today programme to build his own co…

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Over the past few months, my author group chats have taken on a slightly funereal vibe. Friends are getting dropped by their agents. Novels go out on submission and then… nothing. Editors are being laid off. And people keep muttering the same dread-filled phrase:

Is this the end of the career author? The writer who lives entirely off book deals and royalties, the dream so many of us were raised to believe in.

On paper, the evidence seems pretty damning. Advances are, for many, shrinking or staying static, at best. Mid-list support seems to be dissolving. Books are being tossed into an overcrowded market where even brilliant ones vanish without a ripple. No wonder even well-established writers are scrambling to patch together income from multiple sources. One celebrated writer pal of mine has started dog-sitting between deadlines. Others are teaching, editing, freelancing, doing anything they can to stay afloat.

Worse than the instability of all this is the shame.
So many writers assume it’s their fault. That their book wasn’t good enough. That they somehow failed.

But it’s not their fault.

The truth is that the desire to make a full-time living solely from writing books has always been a gamble, far riskier than most of us are willing to admit.

I often look back to the very beginning of my career, when I was a senior executive at a national magazine and handed in my notice the same week my debut novel Daddy’s Girls shot into the top ten. I’m staggered now that it never occurred to me that my original two-book deal might be the only one I ever got. In my mind, I had ‘become an author.’ That was it. End of discussion.

I’d swallowed the myth, the glossy, seductive and flattering idea that being a full-time author was a stable identity rather than a crap-shoot at best.

But when you look at it clearly, dispassionately, the old model - write a book, collect advance and royalties, repeat, is massively precarious. It places enormous pressure on every project to succeed. One wobble and the whole thing can collapse.

I’ve been in this business long enough (over twenty years now) to have heard many, many stories about books underperforming or derailing for reasons entirely outside the author’s control.

A supply-chain hiccup that meant a book reached the shops weeks after its launch date.
The barcode error that resulted in hundreds of sales not registering.

Publishing is a machine with a lot of moving parts.
All it takes is one rusty cog, a logistics problem, perhaps your genre falling temporarily out of fashion, an editor going on leave, or a black swan event - and everything can be thrown off.

I learnt this myself at what should have been the peak of my writing career. My novels were hitting the Sunday Times bestseller list off part-week sales and my latest release (and to this day, one of my best books,) received a huge push: posters at Waterloo Station, major retail support, (at considerable cost to my publisher). You’d think that would guarantee success.

Except… that was the exact month the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy exploded.

Hundreds of thousands of women were going into bookshops and buying all three EL James books at once. And that meant the rest of the women’s fiction market took a battering. Looking back, my sales never truly recovered from that summer.

And yet, even after that, it somehow didn’t fully hit me how unpredictable the industry could be - or that perhaps, I shouldn’t have all my eggs in one traditional publishing basket. Not until Covid.

In 2020, my new novel was pushed back twice because of pandemic scheduling chaos. With no money coming in (because authors are paid on delivery and publication,) I realised I had to do something drastic.

So I self-published a romantic comedy drama The Singles Table I had in my bottom drawer.

And it was one of the best career moves I’ve ever made.

Diversifying my writing income wasn’t just practical - it was empowering.

Suddenly I wasn’t only an author; I was a publisher. I was back in the wider world, going to industry events, contacting journalist friends, asking for PR, pitching interviews, reconnecting with people who’d known me from my magazine days. And in doing so, other doors began to open. Editors asked me to write features. I launched my Substack. I began hosting retreats. I started a small publishing company. I remembered that I actually enjoy being part of the creative world, not sitting in my study, anxiously awaiting publication dates.

But an odd thing also started happening.

Some people began treating me with suspicion or pity when they learnt I wasn’t ‘just writing books’ anymore. As though having multiple income streams somehow meant I had failed at the One True Author Path.

Which is funny, because for most of history, writers have been generally multi-hyphenates.

Dickens wasn’t just Dickens. He was a journalist, a performer, an editor, a publisher - practically a Victorian content creator.
Austen had family support.
Melville worked a day job.
Twain lectured endlessly.
Woolf ran a publishing house.
And for years, Ian Fleming wrote his Bond novels whilst working at The Sunday Times, taking three months off each year to write in Jamaica, his journalism directly feeding his storylines.

But then between the 1960s and the early 2000s, something unusual happened: the full-time ‘career author’ was everywhere. Publishing was flush in this era. Mass-market paperbacks became big business as books, especially commercial fiction, became a mainstream, affordable treat. TV wasn’t yet competing for every scrap of attention. Bookshops were thriving. Supermarkets started buying and selling novels in large quantities. Publishers had bigger margins and took more risks.

It was the age of mega-deals, huge advances, long lunches, glossy author photos, and multi-book contracts that didn’t just pay the mortgage but paid it off. A time when a writer could, with a straight face, describe being an author as a solid, stable profession. Many writers really did live entirely off their novels. A lucky few even made fortunes.

But that golden era was just that - a moment. A blip. A historically unusual spike in the long, wobbly line of author economics. The conditions that made it possible simply don’t really exist anymore. The industry reshaped itself faster than the mythology surrounding it, meaning many writers kept clinging to the old idea, the full-time author who earns a living from novels alone, long after the scaffolding had dissolved.

Because things ARE different now.

Attention is fragmented.
Retail is unpredictable.
Reading competes with scrolling, streaming, gaming.
Publishers take fewer risks.
Editors feel safer commissioning celebrity books.
Algorithms drive discovery more than posters at train stations.
A single viral BookTok can outmuscle a year of curated marketing, yet no-one really understands how to make that viral magic happen.

This is the new reality of 21st-century publishing and it’s time we rewired our expectations.

But here’s the good news:

We are not witnessing the death of the full-time author.
We are witnessing the death of a myth, and the rebirth of a new, more resilient, more expansive kind of writer.

Instead of betting our entire livelihoods on one book every year - which, when you say it out loud, is an absolutely bonkers business model - you can, and should, build something sturdier:

A portfolio career.
Multiple revenue streams.
Multiple creative outlets.
Multiple ways to reach readers.

Maybe the ‘career author’ is fading.
But the writer?
The writer is evolving.

And honestly? That evolution is good for us.

Yes, it’s busier and much harder work.
But it’s less lonely.
Less precarious.
More connected.
More creative.
More alive.

Perhaps an agent or editor has knocked you back, maybe your sales have tanked, but you are still a writer.

And we are just returning to the older, truer shape of authorship, only now with better tools, broader reach, and more control than any generation before us.

So whether you’re searching for your first book deal, celebrating your fifth, or wondering why your tenth wasn’t renewed… it’s time to look at the industry with new eyes and new expectations.

The multi-hyphenate writer isn’t Plan B.
It’s the old normal turned the new normal.
And it might just be the most empowering model we’ve ever had.

Enjoy the week

Tasmina x

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I don’t know what to tell people these days when they ask me what I do for a living.

It used to be easy. For a very short time it was lawyer. Then it was a journalist and for the past 19 years it has been novelist.

But lately it doesn’t accurately describe what I do. Yes, I write books, but I also publish them too, alongside two other authors. I organise writing retreats – we had a fantastic one in Oxford in the Spring and I’m planning another one for later in the year. I’ve got not one, but two Substacks and a podcast in the works.

A twenty-something friend observed that I have a portfolio career, but I prefer a definition I heard in the week when I went to an indie publishing conference in central London.

One of the keynote speakers was there to talk about direct to consumer publishing for authors, but I liked the way he described himself as a ‘storyteller entrepreneur.’

And he is definitely entrepreneurial.

Writing and distributing his stories in a unique way, he has seen his income sky-rocket from $100,000 to $4m in the past three years because of it.

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His brand is the definition of stealth wealth. High end cashmere, relaxed luxury and very, very expensive. Clothes for billionaires has been a tidy business because Brunello is now a billionaire himself, not bad for someone whose childhood home had no electricity and only started his brand in 1978 with just a few hundred dollars.

Considering his extraordinary success, I was surprised to read about Brunello’s daily routine when it popped up on my Instagram feed the other day.

It revealed that Brunello’s typical working day includes a siesta and a one hour and a half lunch break, and the whole company shuts downs at 5.30pm - no meetings, no emails - so everyone has the late afternoon to themselves.

The time and space built into the Cucinelli working day feels counterintuitive to the demands of 21^st century capitalistic society, where everyone seems trained to work longer and harder, thinks it’s normal that our in-box never sleeps and founders and CEOs feel the need ‘strive’ to thrive.

Yet the success of Brunello Cucinelli shows us there is another way.

Reading about his approach to life and business reminded me of a Japanese concept I came across on our trip to Tokyo and Kyoto late year.

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May was one of those electric months. Busy, fun and exciting, full of stuff like industry breakfasts, festivals and interesting meetings with…

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I’ve been in St Ives for Easter. The first thing I did when I got there was head over to the town’s famous Crypt Gallery (former gal…

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Before Christmas I went to see a screening of Slumdog Millionaire, followed by an ‘in conversation’ with Simon Beaufoy, its Oscar winning screenwriter. Simon’s teenage kids were in the audience and …

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Here we go!

‘I think that magazines are mostly done,’ said iconic magazine editor Tina Brown earlier this week, in an excellent Substack interview with .

Not many people can argue with that. Even die-hard magazine fans like myself can admit that the industry is a shadow of its former self. The shelves in the magazine section of the supermarket are distinctly more threadbare than they used to be, household name publications have opted out of ABC auditing, year-on-year sales are down once again.

It makes me sad, because only thirty years ago, it was a such a different story.

I’d arrived in London to take up a job as junior writer on More magazine in the white heat of peak Britpop and Cool Britannia and couldn’t believe the wonderland I had fallen into in the name of work.

The entertainment industry was awash with money and happily threw it at magazines to promote their bands, solo artists and films and as an ‘on-staffer’ on one of the biggest selling national titles, it meant that I had some incredible experiences.

Over the years there were trips all over the world, staying in luxury hotels, just to meet the latest feted music industry star. You could get expense account taxis to watch a movie screening complete with free sandwiches in the middle of the day. Entertaining lunches were long and lavish. I watched the Monaco Grand Prix from a luxury yacht, went to Dolce & Gabbana’s 10^th anniversary party in Milan to interview a singer who was performing there, and once flew to New York - just for the night - so I could attend the MTV music awards at Radio City Music Hall. Being a magazine journalist really was a dream job. Until it wasn’t.

There’s a great passage in Gone Girl when Nick Dunne explains his newly acquired unemployed status.

‘I arrived in New York in the late 90s, the last gasp of the glory days although no one knew it then. New York was packed with writers, loads of them. This was back when the Internet was still some exotic pet kept in the corner of the publishing world - throw some kibble at it, watch it dance on its little leash…it definitely won’t kill us in the night…’

But that’s exactly what happened. The internet changed everything.

Content was suddenly everywhere; it was easy to access without even leaving your house and the choice for the reader seemed infinite; there was something for every taste and mood.

Suddenly anyone could be a journalist - all they needed to do was send their blogs out into the world. And with the advent of Facebook and Instagram – practically everyone was dishing out their opinions to the universe. Who needed to buy newspapers and magazines to read their favourite columnists when you could find out what anyone thought about Big Brother simply by hopping on Twitter?

Most importantly of all, this content on the internet was free. For people who had spending months, years, training to be a professional journalist, it was very frustrating. Imagine what it was like for the people who owned the magazines.

The media companies didn’t quite sit back and do nothing. They launched digital versions of their brands too, but most of them, nearly all of them, were afraid to elevate themselves above the bloggers and the citizen journalists, and were not confident enough to charge for their content, at least in the early days.

And if you don’t value your content - why should anyone else?

Back in Printland, circulations started to plummet when competition from the internet started to bite and with it dipped the revenue from sales.

Maybe print magazines could have survived if the advertisers had stayed loyal, but when they discovered influencers who had metrics you could actually track and platforms like Facebook where you could target potential customers with precision, much of the ad spend moved on to them.

So it’s easy to blame the internet for the sad demise of print media, but it’s not the whole story.

Looking back, I think the rot set in pre social media, pre the dot.com boom and the advent of broadband, in about 1997.

Those days were the beginning of what I call the ‘cover-mount arms race’.

Cover-mounts, if you haven’t heard the term, are the free gifts that come attached to a magazine. I don't know who started the craze, but they became very popular, very quickly. These items were usually sourced in China – totes, make-up bags, t-shirts shrink wrapped in acres of plastic. By the turn of the millennium, when cover-mounts had proven they could give your sales figures a big old bump, the free gifts started to get more elaborate, more valuable and more widespread - so much so that going into WH Smith was like walking into a department store.

Sunglasses, flip-flops, bikinis - you name it, some magazine would have it strapped to the cover in the race to be the must-buy magazine on the news-stand. T-shirts suddenly had designer names emblazoned on the front of them, beauty products - lipsticks, brand-named mascara and nail polishes became especially popular. I even once saw a pair of HAIR STRAIGHTENERS on a front cover.

But by the time I was an editor, I remember watching somebody buy a copy of a top lifestyle magazine at Borders. I saw them pay for it, take the expensive beauty product freebie out of plastic wrapping and within a minute, they threw the magazine in the nearest bin.

You see, no amount of free stuff can save a mag if it is not truly connecting with its readers.

True, there were plenty of readers who loved both the free gift and the magazine - but in hindsight, the Noughties’ addiction to price-cutting and cover-mounting was just a sticking plaster, a quick fix to compete with the growing power of the internet and the change in people’s reading habits.

What publishers should really have been doing was doubling down on their investment in editorial, giving them added resources to build communities with their readers, helping them pivot more quickly into podcasts and video, promoting their journalists as experts, promoting magazines themselves, and the act of buying and reading them, as more desirable than scrolling.

Fast forward to 2025, and I hardly buy print magazines anymore. Truthfully, I stopped because my favourites no longer delighted and entertained me in the way they used to.

Titles I’d loved for years I found had become quite joyless; photoshoots felt edgy rather than magical, interviews were bland and obviously PR approved. Too much content felt politicised and preachy, which is not what I wanted from a lifestyle magazine. Financially squeezed, I noticed that magazines had become thin and expensive, certainly compared with the free and easy smorgasbord on the internet.

So I stopped my subscriptions because they simply weren’t giving me what I wanted. In the face of free unlimited content online, I just didn’t want magazines enough.

I don’t want this slide to happen to books.

I still love printed, physical products - my Kindle might be bursting, but I still buy dozens of hardbacks and paperbacks every year.

So thinking about why print magazines declined makes me wonder how we can stop it happening to physical books. Here are some thoughts…

Make books valuable

I've often drawn parallels with the publishing industry’s current devotion to the 99p ebook pricing strategy and the magazine cover-mount arms race.

After all, I'm sure I'm not the only one who has hundreds of 99p books sitting on their Kindle unread. These books were bought because they were a bargain, not necessarily because I was excited about the book.

Books can't be devalued. They can’t be just sold on price point. Not ebooks, not paperbacks, hardback or audio. They are all ‘books’ and their worth, a writer’s worth, needs to be protected.

Authors, editors, retailers need to work really hard to make sure the core product, the writing, the story, is as good as possible, especially when you are going to charge £10 for a physical edition.

Publishers should also not be afraid to charge more for books - although they have to make it worth it.

I’ll happily pay £70 for one of Assouline’s beautiful travel guides, especially when it’s from their delicious jet-set chic shop in Piccadilly. Yes - it’s very, very expensive but the act of buying it and browsing through it makes me feel like Sophia Loren.

Publishers need to make books look and feel exciting, exciting enough to compete shoulder to shoulder with podcasts, blogs and Netflix.

Make physical books desirable

I love ebooks. My publishing imprint is digital-first. You can have five hundred books in your handbag by loading the Kindle app on your phone. Kindles are also brilliant for holidays - no more lugging big books around in your suitcase. But as portable as ebooks are, there is still something special about a physical book. The smell of paper, the feel of it in your hands, the joy of ‘switching off’ from screen-time as you open a book.

Publishers should lean into this. Subscription boxes like FairyLoot are doing a roaring trade by providing stunning special editions with sprayed edges and foiled covers. Make books beautiful - a perfect gift for others or yourself.

Make bookshops and sales outlets magical

The other day Jack White’s Third Man Records store was voted one of the top record shops in the world. If you’ve been in it (it’s tucked away in Marshall St in Soho,) you won’t doubt why.

Conceived over lockdown to help keep gigs, live events and record buying alive, Third Man is a magical hub to the arts of buying and listening to music. It has bags of personality and is full of quirks that make it talked about and remarkable, like a token operated lucky dip machine and a recording booth where musicians can upload their work straight to vinyl.

Jack White has his White Stripes proceeds to invest in his passion project and he’s using them well - Third Man Records is leading the way in how physical product should be sold. Booksellers should look and learn - Penguin’s vending machines at various train stations are a great start.

Authors should build an engaged community

My husband and I were lucky enough to work for More and Loaded in their heyday. Readers flocked to our male model competitions, Chippendale shows and pub crawls. People would send letters to the office by the sackful, feeling a deep connection and belonging with the magazine.

More and Loaded (and many other successful titles,) weren’t just publications, they were communities and made people feel part of a tribe. Readers felt seen and understood and they were loyal, buying the magazine every issue.

Authors need to try and build communities too. They need to turn readers into loyal fans who will buy anything they put out. Live events, newsletters, and signed editions all help to do this. Their personal branding needs to be clear and stand for something.

Don’t be afraid of innovation

Glamour magazine launched in 2001. Looking back, it was when the internet was starting to gather steam. But no matter, Glamour flew out of the gates like a rocket and was soon one of the best-selling magazines in the country. It tapped into the zeitgeist with its Sex and the City sass, but its handbag format felt fresh, practical and distinctive, undoubtedly contributing to its success.

Book publishers should also embrace innovation. Personalized books are one way to go. Or fast, compulsive series - books released in quick succession to gain momentum, like the way Fifty Shades of Grey was published. Flipback books are also cool; printed on ultra-fine paper so they fit into the palm of your hand.

Make creative workplaces FUN

In the Nineties, working at a magazine was brilliant fun. By and large, the whole team were pretty devoted to their jobs. Perks were spread around, we were happy to go out after hours and brainstorm features because honestly, it didn’t feel like work.

Compare that to an observation an old friend recently made. A highly experienced writer and editor, she had gone into a features department to do a shift and was shocked to see all the young journalists sitting there with headphones on, not interacting with anybody. There were no long boozy lunches in the pub talking about features, there seemed to be little enthusiasm for after hours socialising, in fact many of them left the office on the dot to go and do their side hustle.

You can sympathize. London rental prices are ridiculous, junior media salaries can be meagre, expenses almost non-existent. But creative environments need to have verve, energy and passion so that ideas can flow.

Teams need to collaborate and with remote working so in vogue, I’m not convinced staff are truly connecting and feeding off each others’ energy.

Cost cutting and redundancies aren’t long term business strategies. Publishing companies need to invest in people. Experienced editors should not be replaced by junior ones - teams need a balance of youthful energy and hard won wisdom.

Make work fun, make it enjoyable and staff will go the extra mile.

Make your writers feel valued.

As a publisher myself, I know it can be hard to make money from books. Compared to other sectors, the profit margins are low. A Facebook ad costs the same if you are marketing a £50,000 car or a £5 paperback. And the competition is fierce when thousands of books are published every year.

But still, authors have to feel valued.

Publishers need to make them feel as if they are being nurtured and supported in their careers - not just for their latest book. Editors need to be honest about expectations, because when a book doesn’t sell well, authors feel dejected, especially when they’ve been led to believe it would do well.

All this needs to happen, because the world of indie publishing is booming. Big name writers are on Substack, authors are exploring self-publishing in bigger and bigger numbers, especially in ebook formats.

Legacy media need to give creatives a reason to stay with them. Our words, our stories are the core product and with so much tech and freelance expertise at our fingertips, publishing ourselves isn’t difficult. Traditional publishers need to demonstrate what added value they bring to the table.

And for the record, I don't believe that the print magazine industry is dead. Radio Times and Good Housekeeping both turned 100 recently and remain the trusted brands they ever were. Reading The Simple Things is my monthly magazine fix for off-screen downtime - and we all want more of that.

I recently picked up a copy of The Oldie and loved the gentle humour and wisdom - even though I’m probably not the target demographic. You magazine and Stylist consistently come up with brilliant, innovative covers.

In fact, I think that’s the key to reviving magazines. Not being afraid to put out something fun, fabulous and original.

Meanwhile, on my recent trip to Tokyo, I saw that print magazines are still thriving. In Japan, magazines are seen as hip. I think that they are ahead of the curve on this one as I see Generation Z and Alpha rediscovering a love for print magazines in a way that millennials found vinyl.

Niche titles will thrive. Creative bravery will create desire and cool. I see the push back coming from independent creators - passionate young writers and designers every bit as committed to magazines as we were in the Nineties.

Here’s hoping.

Tasmina x

PS. I know that there are lots of writers and authors in the We Are All Creatives community. What do you think? I would love to hear everyone’s views. Especially magazine readers! Join the conversation :)

Hello everyone and Happy New Year!

How was your festive season? Did you eat too many After Eights? I did.

Whatever you got up to I hope it was fabulous and you are raring to go into 2025.

I’m not a bi…

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Taylor Swift’s new book is out tomorrow.

The Official Taylor Swift: The Eras Tour is a 256 page volume of memories, reflections and behind the scenes photos from her gigantic tour plus sketches and pi…

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Today I spent a couple of hours with Holly Tucker, co-founder of Not on the High Street and now the brains behind Holly & Co, at an entrepreneurs’ breakfast, and what a Friday morning shot in the arm…

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I went to see Rupert Everett in conversation last night at the Southbank Centre as part of the London Literary Festival. Everett calls himself an actor who writes but if you haven’t read any of his b…

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