I have a confession. I used to be a magazine addict. Read Confessions of a Magazine Addict.

I have a confession to make.

I used to have a bit of a problem. An addiction you might say.

For many, many years I was a magazine addict. I couldn’t resist their glossy covers, catchy headlines, and feature stories.

Just ask any of my friends who have helped me move house over the years.

For my first magazine move I packed them into large tea chests (yes the old wood and metal ones that actually used to have tea leaves rolling around in the corners of them). The removalist nearly broke his back moving them.

He asked if the boxes were full of bricks.


For another move, from memory when I moved interstate I got rid of many of my magazines.

It was hard, I hated it.

I still have flashbacks to long-lost magazine covers.

Admittedly in hindsight, it’s probably a good thing I culled my collection at that point or my current two bedroom apartment would be full of magazines and I would be sleeping in the garage. Well a portion of the garage, since that might be full too.

Years later there was another move, where we piled my mags into my girlfriend’s car boot to pass onto her Dad.

Her car bottomed out over her driveway which left paint in places it shouldn’t be.

Her Dad distributed the magazines to various nursing homes so the residents could have something new to read. Unfortunately, he wasn’t counting on most of them being Cosmo and Cleo. I gave somewhere around a hundred ‘how to have an orgasm’ stories to a bunch of elderly people.

Again with the oops.

Though you never know, some of them might have appreciated a few pointers.

I didn’t limit myself to Australian magazines. No, no, no. I was a buyer on an international scale. When I went to the UK and Europe I would stock up on great English magazines.

I even bought one in French once, couldn’t read a word of it but it was pretty.

When I went to America, I would go into a frenzy of magazine buying. I was like a kid in a candy store. Shoe stores could take a hike; it was the magazines I craved. I even had the baggage allowances sussed out. I knew how many I could buy and just where to stash them throughout my luggage, so I wouldn’t go over the allowance and have to pay through the nose to get them home.

During my glamazon stage, back in the days when I frocked up in tight dresses to go nightclubbing and shaved my legs regularly, I was obsessed with American Glamour magazine.

I even went through a phase of buying magazines about soap operas. I don’t think anything else really needs to be said about that.

With all of these magazines I needed something to store them in, so many years ago when I lived in Sydney, I wandered off to Freedom to buy two plain white bookcases.

Man those bookshelves have had a hard life and yes I still have them.

The non-fixed shelves would have to be turned every now and then because they warped under the weight. I would warp them back the other way and carry on until it was time to repeat the whole process.

When the bookshelves were stocked full of magazines, the top of the bookcase would lean forward precariously a couple of inches. They always looked like they were ready to topple over at any moment.

I had many a bad dream about them falling and squashing some poor unsuspecting house guest staying on the blow-up mattress in the spare room or worse still my cat.

With my brother currently staying with me during the week, it was time to move the bookcases into my bedroom. For something different, I took all the magazines out and used the bookcases to hold books instead (a crazy idea that one, books in a bookcase). Lo and behold, no more leaning. It had never dawned on me that the magazines were the culprits for the dangerous lean.

At least I know my cat won’t be crushed while he cleans himself in front of the bookcase now.

You might be wondering where all the magazines went (even if you aren’t wondering, I am going to tell you anyway). I hid them in the spare bedroom cupboard, all piled up on top of each other.  My brother took one look at their new home and asked if there was a weight-bearing beam somewhere under them. Crap! A whole new bunch of nightmares right there.

I stopped regularly buying magazines a while ago. Ironic considering I need to buy them for work now.

I want to see my name in the contributor section, to see a feature with my name on it. I tend to research and study magazines, particularly the masthead and ads, more so than just reading them these days. On a tighter budget, I need to be more strategic about purchases.

Oddly enough I have never subscribed to magazines, which in hindsight seems a bit daft.

Back in the day when I was buying regularly, I could have saved myself a small future subscribing at a lower price.

Magazines have gone through an interesting transition over the years. Times are tough as we all know and many good titles have gone belly up.

It is not just the magazines that have changed. It’s me.

Aside from a tighter budget, I have gone off celebrity magazines, which if you haven’t noticed seem to have morphed into a large section of the mainstream market. I think it is a bit sad but I am clearly outvoted.

I still buy them occasionally, normally when a train, plane or bus trip is on the cards.

I prefer features with substance and meaning. Features that will touch and move me, have me thinking about the world and my place in it.

I’m at that age (I can’t believe I just wrote that but alas it’s true) where it is hard to find a magazine that truly suits my needs. I am the first to admit though, I am a bit of an odd demographic.

I still love the occasional mag but to be honest I’ve moved onto books. Non-fiction books are my new love. Now enough chit-chat, I’m off to the bookstore. Might just pick up a mag while I’m there!

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