by Di Morrissey
Fran Hirshcombe leapt into the lengthening abyss. ‘I think I speak for all of us when I say, while we are excited about this new challenge, big changes are always destabilising. Most of us have worked here since Carina began – and all of that with Dorothy and, er . . . Carina Brett-Moir. So, while we were never complacent, there was a certain familiarity about the magazine which . . .’
Ali held up her hand and cut in. ‘Precisely what I intend to change. The cliché that familiarity breeds contempt doesn’t quite apply, but familiarity gives readers predictability and that’s tedious. I intend that Blaze will shake Australia’s magazine readers, and gain us new ones who have had plenty of reasons lately to be contemptuous of magazines in this country.’
The group around the table stared at Ali, each silently absorbing the insult. Larissa decided to maintain her silence. This was Ali’s scene.
Ali returned their gaze. ‘In your folders, you will find briefing notes of the market we are aiming at and the initiatives expected from the senior staff of Blaze. So what stories have you come up with?’
The group examined the notes in front of them, suddenly unsure about their ideas.
Jonathan Gibb, employed by Nina on her arrival in Sydney, spoke first. ‘There’s a new study out showing the alarming rise of alcoholism among young and middle-aged women. There are also aspects of the study about ageing women that I thought worth exploring.’
‘I read that report too. I was surprised at the large numbers of middle-class women . . . women who are our readers,’ broke in Barbara. ‘Why do these women, who are financially comfortable, in apparently happy homes, with achieving kids, take to the bottle?’
‘So is that the story angle we look at?’ asked Jonathan. ‘What makes a woman start drinking? Why are there so many women in their middling years out there who are not coping well with growing older? They can’t cope with changing lifestyles, or keeping up with their careers? Why are there so many husbands that leave to look for younger women, or have no sense of identity or achievement?’
Bob Monroe warmed to the topic. ‘So let’s look at the reasons why a typical middle-class woman, who works, looks after a husband and family, who seems to be balancing her life and having it all, suddenly starts to lose her grip. Is it sudden, or had it been coming and no one saw it?’
‘Sounds like it’s worth exploring in depth,’ said Tiki. ‘I suppose there are always relationship problems – abusive, alcoholic spouses, or no partner at all, lack of love and companionship.’ Tiki paused, wondering if she should raise the issue of ageism, then decided to go for it. ‘If we did a feature, whoever wrote it could spell out the smouldering conflict of “maturity and experience” being pushed aside for “fresh and innovative”.’ She continued. ‘And we should talk to women who’ve survived ageism.’ Nina Jansous was sixty and she’d managed to keep a contemporary slant on life. ‘I suppose a lot of our readers are experiencing the life-changing thing,’ she finished carefully.
Ali was dismissive. ‘Old hat, matronly stuff. And if you’re talking change-of-life readers, that is about to go,’ said Ali briskly, annoyed Nina’s senior writer had brought up this subject. He should have known ageism was not a subject that would interest Ali. ‘Those people will enjoy reading Blaze, yes, but we’re targeting where the money and action is – the achievers, the twenty-five to forty group. Men and women who are confident, cluey, tuned into technology and not afraid to aim high, whatever the cost.’ Ali spoke softly, but matter-of-factly, reeling off a description that seemed to everyone present to describe Ali. ‘This is not a women’s magazine, even though we may sometimes address subjects that might be of particular interest to women. The Blaze approach is to make these articles – fashion, beauty, style, health – of interest to go-get-’em men and women. I am also not about giving advice to readers on self-improvement or solving life’s problems.’ At this, the former Carina staff who’d been briefed by Nina blinked. They understood that had been very much the credo of responsibility, as well as entertainment, that Blaze strived for.
‘What are we on about then?’ asked Bob Monroe.
Ali came back swiftly. ‘We don’t treat our readers, men or women, as losers with problems. They want to be promoted, exploit opportunities, make the most of life because they have the income to do so. They want to start achieving before thirty. By forty, it’s too late.’
‘Oh, it’s all over at forty, is it?’ said Fran Hirshcombe who’d just turned forty and now felt fragile.
‘Well, if you haven’t made it by then, yes,’ said Ali, a hint of patronising surprise in her voice as if to say, don’t you understand yet?
‘Yes, what do you mean by . . . made it?’ asked Barbara. ‘I’m over forty and like to think I still have goals to achieve.’
‘What do you think of when you say “have it all”, Ali?’ asked Fran quietly.
‘Name it. Silver Porsche, smart condo in the best part of town, designer gear, skiing at the top resorts, always being given the best table at the hottest new restaurant in whatever town they happen to be working or playing in. And independence. No ties.’
‘No responsibilities, you mean. No kids, no husband, no elderly parents to care for?’ added Barbara in a neutral voice.
‘You bet. Unless it’s on your terms – a partner who can look after him or herself, a nanny and a housekeeper. That’s getting there, today.’
Ali’s interpretation of achievement jarred with the older women. They were baby boomers, they were still idealistic, still believed one had to care about others and a woman could still do it all – thanks to the women of an earlier generation who’d made big changes possible. Ali came from a more selfish generation. The old hands felt her definition made the magazine sound too elitist and that it would alienate readers who didn’t fall into Ali’s category.
Reg Craven, the advertising director, secretly shared Ali’s definition of their ideal reader. He was a consumer and lived to encourage conspicuous consumption. Advertising was the key to increasing the desire for goods and a materialistic way of life. It was his own philosophy and the way he’d earned his income since first joining the heady world of advertising. But he knew pushing unwanted and unnecessary products on a gullible public didn’t sit well with these middle-aged, baby-boomer women. He kept quiet.
Tiki spoke up. ‘Some people don’t have any choice about how their lives are run, Ali. You fall in love, babies come along, your folks grow old and ill and depend on you.’ Tiki was thinking of her own situation with ageing parents.
‘They should plan their lives better. There are lots of plush retirement places around.’ Ali was dismissive. ‘Can we move on? I have a number of important staff movements to announce.’ Ali leaned forward speaking calmly. ‘I am making some major changes.’ Without flinching she began reassigning positions. ‘Within the next month, I am appointing a new fashion editor and a beauty editor from outside the publishing industry. Tiki and Barbara, you will continue in the positions until they are ready to start, then you will be offered a number of options. Barbara, you will be fifty-three this year, so you are eligible to cash in your retirement package, if you so choose.’
Barbara flushed, she had kept her age deadly quiet and no one believed she was over forty-five.
Ali sailed on, speaking in a friendly tone. ‘Both of you have the option of staying on in a different capacity, either administrative, assisting the new editors who have the inside run on the fashion and cosmetic companies – or freelancing, doing reader surveys and writing the occasional piece. Fiona, you will stay on as stylist and fashion coordinator.’ Ali looked up for the first time, throwing a swift look at the young stylist. She did not glance at anyone else.
The staff members were in shock. It was so callous, so calculated, so surprising. Everyone across the table from Ali felt immediately vulnerable.
Tiki was first to speak. ‘Strike me off that list. I’m out of here, thank you very much,’ she growled and started gathering up her papers, leavi
ng Ali’s unopened market research notes on the table.
Barbara hadn’t moved. The job of beauty editor was her lifeblood. She’d been in magazines since she was twenty-four. Fiona Black touched Tiki’s arm as Tiki, red-faced, crammed the papers into her folder, then turned on Ali. ‘This is pretty shocking news to dump on us, especially those involved. I think Nina Jansous should have a say in this. Does she know what you’re doing? And what do you mean when you talked about appointing people from outside publishing? Just what kind of experience could they have that can replace the talents of myself and Barbara?’
Ali didn’t answer, just stared icily at Tiki.
Fiona turned to Larissa, who had remained tight-lipped. ‘I’m afraid this is news to me,’ Fiona said. It sounded a lame excuse and no one believed Fiona wasn’t aware of Ali’s plans. Most of the women figured Fiona was angling to move in to Tiki’s seat as fashion editor, even though she was years younger. She already had a reputation as a fierce terrier in the way she had relentlessly moved her way up from copy girl to fashion coordinator and stylist. She was very pretty and had used her looks wherever it helped her.
‘Nice try, don’t worry about it, Fiona,’ murmured Tiki. ‘Good luck to you. As I said, I don’t want to be here any more.’ She stood up and pushed back her chair. ‘It’s been nice, guys. A nice three years working with you. I wish you well with the next three months. If any of you lasts that long.’
There was silence as she strode towards the door, almost bowling over Belinda with the tray of cups and a coffee pot.
‘For God’s sake, send in some strong nourishment, Belinda. They’re going to need it.’ Tiki swept from the room.
Attention swivelled to Barbara, who was close to tears. ‘If you want the pages done differently, Ali, I mean, I had no idea my stories were . . . dated? I know you rewrote them for the first issue, Ali, but what . . . what was wrong with them?’ It was a plaintive desperate cry that sent shudders of sympathy through everyone in the room, each now feeling utterly vulnerable. Barbara, always beautifully dressed and groomed, who’d faint rather than be seen with a chip in her nail varnish, was crumbling before their eyes. It was painful and embarrassing.
Ali was relentless. To the others around the table it was staggering that in her assuredness was the assumption she was absolutely right. Just as staggering was the fact that she seemed to feel no discomfort at humiliating the older women. Or indeed, even considered the blow she was delivering. She was so sure, and somehow naively unmoved. It would be easier if Ali had been old and bitter, a hardened cold bitch like some they’d worked for over the years. But Ali was still a young woman, not much older than some of their daughters.
Patiently Ali explained. ‘What we need requires a whole new rethink. It’s not just about the eye make-up colour for this season, or which of our advertisers’ products gets a rave plug this month. We have to look at the science of cosmetics and do well-researched stories. One of the girls I’m looking at trained in a pharmaceutical company and then moved onto a big cosmetic company. Our readers will storm the make-up counters when we tell them what goes into some of these new cellulite and anti-ageing creams.’
‘That’ll thrill our advertisers, if you take on the beauty industry. They pay for half the magazine ads, Ali,’ said Fran cautiously.
‘It depends how it’s done. And there’s a huge market in alternative beauty and health products and programs out there. Look at the anti-ageing clinics. Even the old cosmetic queens are looking at the new millennium research to change how they position their products. We’re not knocking them individually. We’ll handle the sponsors. As I said, it needs a fresh approach.’ Ali looked pointedly at the shell-shocked Barbara.
Barbara took a deep breath and tried to restore her pride. ‘Well, I suppose I’ll have to move elsewhere. It’s not as though I haven’t had offers over the years.’
Ali smiled sympathetically. ‘You could have a very nice redundancy package, Barbara, but frankly finding a job as a beauty editor might be difficult. It’s a generational thing. People of your era just aren’t being hired any more.’
Reacting to the shocked intake of breath from a few of the women, Ali shrugged and tried to soften her style. ‘Sorry, but that’s how it is. This generation is ready to move up, the entrenched and the old guard have to give way to the new wave. You’ve had your turn.’ It was said without animosity but as a statement beyond argument and it sent a chill through those around the table. So much for Nina’s assurances of job security.
Business again occupied Ali’s attention. ‘I’ll talk to each of you individually in the coming week to discuss where we are heading. In the meantime, could we run through ideas for the winter issue, Fiona? Fashion-wise, what have you been working on that you can put up to the new fashion editor?’
Fiona realised this was her big opportunity. She had been feeding clever ideas and research to Tiki this past year, trying to make her look at fashion from a more holistic viewpoint. It wasn’t just clothes, it was people, marketing, gimmicks, showmanship. She was quick on her feet and plunged in with energy, trying desperately to overcome everyone’s shock at what had just happened. ‘What’s new again? Never throw anything away.’ Fiona opened her notes, glad to be distracted and to not have to look at the stunned and hurt faces around her. Everyone was rattled but nobody dared show it. ‘It’s fur. Made a comeback recently, but now it’s back, big time.’
‘God, those animal rights people will hurl ice-creams and stick gum on fur coats if they can. We’re asking for trouble if we promote fur fashions,’ said Fran. ‘Remember that anti-fur ad the conservationists did with top models draped in bleeding, dead animals? Horrible.’
‘But effective,’ Larissa reminded her. ‘In New York and Europe they’ve made faux mink so realistic that a mink mother wouldn’t know the difference.’
‘Exactly. I thought we could maybe arrange the real and the fake together and play spot the difference,’ said Fiona still trying to sell her story. Ali’s face gave no clue to her reaction. ‘But shoot it in a particular outdoor setting, make it a whole spread.’
Ali raised an eyebrow. ‘What do you mean . . . models standing in the snow among bashed seal pups?’ It was an attempt at humour that failed dismally.
‘Not quite. But, yes, do a fashion spread somewhere really different and not well known to Australian readers. I was thinking of the Inuit in northern Canada.’
‘Eskimos, the wild Arctic et cetera?’ said Ali as she made notes.
Fiona ticked off a few more points on the notes she’d been gathering. ‘They achieved independence a year or so back. I thought the people might be a terrific story and heck, how many spreads have been done in the tundra round Nunavut? How many Australians have ever heard of the place?’
‘So what’s there? I mean, is this a husky-drawn sled, snowmobile-type trip? Or fur-lined carriages à la Doctor Zhivago?’ asked Bob, smelling more than a fashion feature.
‘Pulled by caribou. Stunning idea,’ enthused Fran.
‘It is a kind of modern-day fairytale,’ said Fiona, looking at her research notes again. ‘They’re a people who were virtually deliberately wiped out – stolen children, vicious Mounties, government policies to break their cultural ties – but they’re true survivors. There are a lot of parallels with Aborigines. What interests me is one of their beliefs that once upon a time,’ she glanced up, worried she was losing Ali’s attention, ‘the Inuit believed they were the same race as the creatures they hunted. Humans and animals were controlled by the spirits of earth and sea.’
‘How does this fit in with your spread idea?’ asked Ali wondering where this was leading. ‘We’re not National Geographic.’
‘I thought it would be sensational to have the models dressed as creatures, real and Arctic mythical beings, in the furs with wild animal make-up and body paint.’
‘I like it,’ smiled Larissa.
‘Stunning. We could organise a music video clip at the same time, shame to
waste all that effort. Can we hook up with one of the record companies?’ asked Fran, who saw a promotional angle straight away.
Ali made more notes. ‘Okay, but it could cost a bomb. See if we can find a record label willing to foot part of the bill. Throw in a celeb singer who wants a different backdrop for an appropriate song. Of course, it will have to be good enough to reach number one. Come back to me with figures and logistics and how we can reduce our end of the costs. See if they have a tourist commission that can come to the party and pay travel and accommodation. It’s time the rules were bent. Cost-cutting is the bottom line.’
There was silence, until Larissa spoke quietly. ‘Ali, that’s contrary to Triton Communication’s policy where free travel or promotional goods are banned,’ she said mildly. To consider changing this was revolutionary.
Bob backed up Larissa. ‘I’m sure you know that arranging for someone involved with the story to subsidise part or all of the expenses puts constraints on the journalist. Travel is the worst; they fly you to a resort, fete and spoil you and there’s no way you can be objective if you want to be critical.’
When it was announced Triton was incorporating the Carina staff in Blaze, copies of Triton’s editorial policy on expenses and contra deals had been issued to the journalists and section editors. There was a very clear ethical mandate for Triton publications about dealing with ‘freebies’ – simply, they were not tolerated.
Ali knew what they were thinking. ‘We can find a way to maintain integrity by disguising any outside financial support. If we have to, we’ll put a disclaimer at the end of the story. It’s all based on the story angle. And saving dollars for other areas of the publication.’
Fiona noted Ali’s instructions, but she didn’t want to see the Inuit exploited. Her aim was to make a visual statement, and background the photos with references to the political and cultural struggle of these people she found so fascinating.
Reg cleared his voice and adjusted his bow tie. ‘From an advertising point of view it could be profitable, bring a lot of different, new clients on board.’
