Okay, GQ. Just take GQ instead. Wouldn't that have made more sense to give GQ in the first place? Anyhow we hope this works, cause if GQ goes down you're all getting Foreign Policy.

Hopefully for Morgan, he didn't burn as many Daily News colleagues on his way out the door as we've been told, because he must now further humiliate himself before his ex-coworkers. One might imagine that difficult for a man known for blinding fashion choices, implausible gangster impersonation and being dumped by a 17-year-old lover.

But it's possible. Some of Morgan's former enemies — the onetime Tabloid Wars star made plenty — cackle that he's now "begging" to return to the Daily News. Morgan is trying to sell a script; in the meantime, his sugary cocktails aren't going to pay for themselves.

Lloyd Grove's former manservant should be careful what he asks for: The last time Morgan hit the News up for a new gig — a transfer from gossip to features, supposedly — he ended up covering prostate exams for senior citizens in Queens.

Or so it would seem, judging from the outfit the catty slapfighter wore to a New York Public Library benefit Monday night in November. "Disco Party" or not, the lime-green trousers and sockless slippers (see lower photo) would seem to signal a clean break from the Condé Nast magazine's sensibilities (and closet).

Then again, you could spill several apple martinis on those pants and no one would ever know the difference. For Morgan, that would have been the clincher.

(Photos via nypl.org)

Last October, Men's Vogue, for the most part, died. Now it's back, in a sense! It's been cut back to twice a year, but to boost readership, it will "appear as a reverse-bound issue attached to the April issue of Vogue." This is the magazine equivalent of your wife divorcing you but letting you ride in her Jaguar sometimes, because she has all the money. [WWD]


A local TV station in Seattle got a scoop that the Seattle Post-Intelligencer will be sold or closed, something that the editor of the paper says he has no idea about, which does not help them position themselves as a vital news source, at all. Also Seattle is not big enough to be a two-paper town. Not even close. Sorry guys.

Ex-CNN anchor and avian enemy Paula Zahn signed a deal to "develop a weekly newsmagazine" on "Investigation Discovery," a television network. Currently she's doing a show on the local NYC public TV station. In television, there's always a long way to fall, fame-wise. [THR]


New York Observer owner Jared Kushner's Politicker network of websites, which was supposed to develop into a must-read go-to for political junkies in each state, is shutting three more sites, leaving only New York and New Jersey. I guess it wasn't such a bad idea in the boom times, but now it is a failure. Couldn't even work in Illinois? [Politico]

Bono's inaugural NYT op-ed column—it's coming Sunday! You can read it online without buying the paper and donate the money you saved directly to Africa, as some sort of protest. Send pics of Bono, Pinch, and Andy Rosenthal crashing The Box on Saturday night, thx. [Romenesko]


Top editors at newspapers across America wisely chose to devote large portions of their front pages today to the topic of the ass-kicking ways of your World Champion Florida Gators.

The bad news at the meeting: Portfolio is going to be published ten times per year, rather than 12. The December and January issues will be combined, as well as the June and July issues. Alley Insider says that Porfolio's web staff is being cut from twenty employees to five. More layoffs may be coming. The magazine has a lot of high-profile, highly-paid journalists on its staff—and now, one-sixth less space to publish their stories.

Executives are still figuring out what to do with Men's Vogue, and options have run the gamut, including the possibilty of folding it.

One Condé Nast source said that it's likely that the magazine will scale back from publishing 10 issues a year to running only twice a year and it will give up its entire ad sales staff, with Vogue business staff handling the work.

Well, we warned you. Frutini lover Hud Morgan will have to find another outlet for his writing, in between bar fights. [NYO]

[UPDATE: Fashionista says that Men's Vogue has officially been cut down to two issues per year.]

But between mentions of a modelizing Leonardo DiCaprio, a sweaty Doutzen Kroes and Jay-Z's $100 bills, a reader may start to wonder if Morgan's marquee party boys aren't getting a bit long in the tooth. P. Diddy, for example, is 39; Venture capitalist Vivi Nevo, 43; supermarket billionaire Ron Burkle, 56. They're the "old guy in the club," as comedian Chris Rock has it. Then again, pray they never grow up: They're probably keeping the club in business.

Morgan's article/

[Now in convenient link form!]

True, but the magazine industry is feeling pain all over the place(to take but one example, Oprah's once-highflying magazine, O, saw circ tumble more than 10 percent in the past two years). And some brand extensions are doing well — the Wall Street Journal is rushing forward with plans for WSJ. magazine, in the mold of similar, thriving extensions at the Times (T magazine)and the Financial Times (Spending It). The trick seems to be to bundle the extension with the original — and to not try and charge extra for it. [MediaWeek]

Avery is also not apologizing for a fashion obsession that "started innocently enough with my first tie-dyed Chip & Pepper shirt at age 12 has evolved over a decade and a half into a closet full of Dries Van Noten, YSL, Dior, and Costume National, to name just a few." He also cops to wearing "dinner attire" of "jeans, limited edition Nikes, a Raf Simons dress shirt, and a bow tie."

But Avery is a little embarrassed about a recent accident in the Condé Nast cafeteria in which he attempted to load up two trays at once and ended up spilling beef stroganoff on some hapless but unknown coworker (she fled). (He's sorry! He wants to buy you a new outfit! Twelfth floor!)

Then there's this strange assertion:

Here's what it comes down to: I make millions of dollars a year at a "job" that I consider to be pure fun. The people at Vogue don't have that kind of salary. What they do have is a group of people working creatively and relentlessly because of their strong passion and love for fashion. I would challenge you to find another workplace - outside of sports or nursing - that has that.

Ah, yes, nursing: That place for people with "strong passion and love for fashion." Someone should put together a photo spread!

[Men's Vogue]

[WWD]

"Today a note went up on the bulletin board that someone would be hosting a champagne Easter party (go figure) in the courtyard/garden this afternoon. It was signed by Hud Morgan. I thought, "How odd." At three people began to gather, and they are very very loud people, as if each is trying to make sure that whatever he or she is saying is heard by even those speaking more loudly. They are shouting such things as, "Who bothers to learn their doorman's name?!?" Names of film directors are being bandied about, as well as the qualities of extremely rare wool. I half-expect to hear that someone is wearing a scarf made from the lanugo of premature human infants.

My apartment opens directly out into the courtyard/garden, so it's impossible for me to ignore the mayhem. A few minutes ago, no longer able to fight the impulse to see if the host is indeed THE Hud Morgan, the man weakened by Julia Allison's kryptonite, and the bedmate of a high-school student, I walked out on to my own courtyard. I coolly pretended to inspect the headless pigeon recently left there, then looked up long enough to take in the gathering.

How I wish I had a photograph to send you, because the composition alone tells a wonderful story. The guests are all sitting down, and one person is standing: Hud. The guests continue to shout at one another and laugh in ways that would be considered pathological in mental institutions — until Hud begins to speak. But the best part is what he's wearing. He has on a horizontally wide-striped sweater, the stripes being in bright primary colors. It looks like nothing so much as what a closeted gay rower would wear to a Yale football game. But the best part is that he's wearing a white shirt under it with the collar popped. One could weep.

More people are arriving every moment, and my work day is undoubtedly over. I would be resentful, but how can I be angry at people who are undoubtedly celebrating the resurrection of their personal savior, Jesus, by drinking bottle after bottle of champagne?"

Full video:

Emily Brill: Men’s Vogue Editors Say The Darndest Things on Gergory Littley's Voicemail

The scene: last night, around midnight, at the Beatrice Inn, the low-ceilinged West Village bar and nightclub. The characters: Hud Morgan from Men's Vogue, pictured left, and his friend and rival, Spencer Morgan of the once-elite New York Observer. Off-camera: 17-year-old blonde starlet, Leven Rambin, who, incidentally, plays a troubled starlet in tonight's Lipstick Jungle. There's the sound of a slap.

It's not the first time the Men's Vogue writer lost his temper after a long night at the Beatrice. Earlier this month, he berated Julia Allison because the Star magazine talking bosom posted up a picture of herself with a red-scarfed Hud, which ended up on Gawker. He blamed her for pulling him in to her vortex of bad publicity.

But Hud has a vortex all of his own. The bullying of Allison provided a perfect excuse for gossip blogs like this to reveal Hud was dating the "little sister" whom Allison adopted until the 17-year-old actress, Leven Rambin from All My Children, stole her then-boyfriend, libertarian geek Jakob Lodwick. (Confused? There's a diagram).

And about a week ago, we hear, Hud and Spencer had a big argument on the phone. The two Morgans are friends and, yes, they are often mistaken for eachother, because they're in a similar line of work and share the same surname. Spencer Morgan, who recently acquired a fiancee after years as a man-about-town, was in Los Angeles last week for the Oscars. "Did you know that Hud Morgan got engaged?" he was asked. But the two differ in one crucial respect: Hud, for a former gossip columnist for the New York Daily News, has an extremely thin skin.

In the phone conversation, Hud asked Spencer how the engagement was working out. Spencer, having heard about Hud's new girlfriend, 17-year-old Leven Rambin of All My Children, ribbed him about her age. "How old did you say she was?" he asked, or words to that effect. You'd have thought that the polo-player-worshipping fruitini drinker would embrace the proof of his rampant heterosexuality. But no: Hud, embarrassed by the earlier Gawker item on his jailbait girlfriend, said he wanted a timeout on their friendship.

And last night? In a group with Radar's recently liberated Chris Tennant and other journalists, the argument resumed. According to witnesses, the conversation went something like this.

Spencer: "Dude, why didn't you respond to my email?" (He had apologized for the insult to Hud's teen girlfriend.)

Hud: "Do you want me to drop you?"

Spencer: "Yeah, sure. That's a good idea."

Hud walks down the stairs. Spencer follows, bitchslaps him, later telling friends: "He needed a dose of reality."

Hud, to the bouncers: "He punched me! He assaulted me! I want him removed!"

Spencer, explaining the slap: "He wasn't worth a punch."

Bouncers escort Spencer to the side room to the right of the entrance, with the couches. The red handprint on Hud's face gradually fades. Consensus verdict: Spencer's game. Close scene.

• Manhattan media clusterfuck map

Hud Morgan, who is trying to establish himself as a serious journalist after an apprenticeship under Lloyd Grove at the New York Daily News, was particularly offended by a photograph of him, standing awkwardly in a red scarf, beside Allison in her hand-on-hip pose. (This trademark look was so important to Allison that she campaigned to have the photo on her Wikipedia page changed.) The image, which was first posted to Allison's personal blog, was highlighted on Gawker, and mocked by commenters, to the irritation of Morgan's boss. Not the image that a Men's Vogue writer should be conveying.

But spare the sympathy for Morgan. It's not as if the louche writer is a naive victim of Allison's publicity machine. Morgan put himself front-and-center in Tabloid Wars, the 2006 documentary series on the Daily News, in which he agonized on screen about the shallow life of a gossip columnist's gofer, and then drowned his sorrows in free booze. Best line: "Can you get me a beer, because I'm such a man? I want to order a fruit-ini, but I'm on camera." And he's embarrassed Allison in public, before. At a party for Arianna Huffington in 2007, Morgan stole Allison's cellphone, and drunkenly read out text exchanges between the dating columnist and her magazine editor boyfriend of the time, Dave Zinczenko, paying particular attention to mentions of blow jobs and Allison's post-sex bruises. The Men's Health editor soon broke off the relationship.

That's all history; there is a statute of limitations on the offenses committed by drunken gossip columnists. But Morgan's rehabilitation, since moving to Men's Vogue, is superficial. Put aside yesterday's drunken rant at Beatrice Inn. (Allison can inspire rage in even the most sober of people.) Guess whom he's currently dating? It's almost too lurid to be true: Leven Rambin, the 17-year-old star of daytime soap, All My Children. The same Rambin whom Allison called her "adopted little sister", until the barely legal actress lured the dating columnist's geek boyfriend, Jakob Lodwick. (Incidentally, Hud Morgan was one of Allison's first friends in New York, introduced by Grove, whom she knew from Washington, D.C.) Rambin's guilt, now compounded by her latest fling, doesn't trump ambition: the teenaged actress avoids photographs with Allison, on her publicist's advice. "I'm like media kryptonite," Allison tells friends.

Conclusion: they all deserve eachother.

[A]n hour on the premises will reveal items you never ever knew you wanted until you saw them (an over-the-shoulder tote that stows 10 bottles of wine—husbands, lock up your wives) as well as items probably better suited to a Yale secret society (a skull and crossbones needlepoint cummerbund). The Reds alone take up the entire back wall, and in recent years the collection has expanded to shorts, hats, sweaters, and—que scandale!—yarmulkes.