I am proud to announce we have managed to rectify this problem: Today, I present to you Scene magazine. The product of dozens of trust funds and at least ten hours of work, this fine magazine – nay, journal – embodies the principles my friends and I hold most dear.
2. Wealth. While not an explicit prerequisite, having parents who are wealthy enough to fly you down to New York for weekend photoshoots and indiscriminate enough to finance the coke binges that probably follow them certainly makes it easier for you to join our lovely coterie. Features on phenomenally indulgent apartments and $40-a-plate restaurants are de rigeur. Of course, the magazine isn’t assuming that all of its readers can afford these delights; instead, it’s telling them that they shouldn’t even be perusing these glossy pages if they lack the funds to live this life.
3. Self-indulgence. Here at Scene, we have a little motto: “Here, by the grace of God, go we.” By virtue of our tony private schools and echo-chamber social circles, our opinions have become inherently more valuable. We deem worthy of publication our iTunes playlists, resplendent with cutting-edge artists like M.I.A. Annie, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, and other names that show we’ve given an extremely cursory glance to pitchforkmedia.com. Similarly, we’ve appropriated the most insipid elements of blogs – esoteric, self-important rants by people with no qualifications – and shown that they can waste ink as easily as they waste bandwidth. Most importantly, we only write about people we know: After all, if we didn’t know them, they wouldn’t really be Important People, would they?
4. Insincerity. Us Scene-sters follow in a storied tradition that goes all the way back to Marie Antoinette and the Duchess of Windsor. We are not just white and rich – we also like to show just how out-of-touch we are with the rest of society. We show just how street tough we are by posing, opposite the “staff” page, in front of a graffiti-ed up wall. That’s right, we stood on the same ground once trod upon by dangerous minorities – and in broad daylight, no less! Yes, we’re white and stuffy, but we can be plenty gritty and urban. We pose together in our Brooks Brothers clothing, giving looks that scream “my dad will SUE YOUR ASS if you even DARE to fuck with me.” We’re street, and we’re fucking tough.
5. Unprofessionalism. Whether it be through the photography – which looks like an eight-year-old attempted to copy the New York Times’s Sunday Styles section – or the writing, we want to convey the impression that one day our parents will land us jobs at the world’s leading newspapers and magazines, but that we’ve still got a ways to go before we get there. Inconsistent editing, overused phrases (“it would be an understatement to say,”), and an obvious contempt for grammar (after all, could anything be more proletarian?) remind our readers that the legacy tradition is still strong in Harvard admissions. Our articles are written to minimize facts and maximize fawning – who cares about actual information when Jack McCambridge has taken Harvard by storm? Moreover, the mere thought of research horrifies us: Interesting people are only interesting by virtue of leading a campus organization, restaurants selected for review by a thirty-second glean of Zagat’s, and heaven forfend any article be written about something that wasn’t already covered in FM.
6. Ignorance. We’re especially proud of the tradition of ignorance we’re establishing, as it’s equal parts deliberate and accidental. Like any publication of real worth, we play fast and loose with facts, claiming that Harvard lost to Yale in Clifton Dawson’s freshman year. We proudly pretend that final clubs aren’t really a problem for anybody and reduce issues about women’s equality on campus to narcissistic rants about the difficulties that uptight wealthy women provide for uptight wealthy men.
Friends, there are many reasons why people like you should look up to people like me: It is by no accident that I have wound up as Ozymandias, king of kings, here at the finest of universities. With the publication of Scene magazine, it’s finally possible for the huddled masses of Harvard University to look up to their social beacons without requiring us to abase ourselves to commonality. I bid you all good night.