A few months back I started receiving Wired magazine pretty much of out of the blue. I’ve never ordered it. Maybe it’s some wayward gift from one of my many (i.e 0.5) followers. No matter, not to look a gift-horse in the mouth (what in the world does that cliché really mean), I read it. I even enjoyed it. Wired features thick glossy paper that feels good to the finger and features a production value that would seem more appropriate in the Chinese Olympics. Vibrant colors, fancy charts and graphs, beautiful women – I mean, it has it all. The articles are obviously nerd-relevant, making it even an interesting read. What nerd wouldn’t like an article on the latest gadgetry, lifting fingerprints from bullets, or the ultimate poker-playing bot?
I’ve noticed with regularity that I end my Wired reading sessions feeling somewhat dirty – almost like I had been perusing some plastic-wrapped pornographic skin-mag from the top-shelf of the local Kroger (which I would never do of course). Today, while breaking from my winter reading sprint, I decided to catch up on the two Wired magazines gathering dust on my desk.
It was while reading a sardonic reflection of a modern “Great Depression” where futuresque bums roam the streets with their Guitar Hero axes and find rest in trashed Aeron chairs that it hit me. Wired is written by a bunch of smug, arrogant asshats who think they are better than everyone else (no, I’m really *not* talking about myself here) – and cater to those who wish to feel better of themselves by reading said self-professed elitism of thought. I thought maybe this was purely a response to one very snobbish piece, but after reading the pretentious responses to some customer feedback and reading a number of other articles in the same light, my conclusions were confirmed. Even though the topics that Wired covers are (sometimes) relevant, and often portray views that I may (sometimes) agree with,they approach these topics in such a high-browed, arrogant manner that it’s almost impossible to be able to trust or feel good about anything you are reading.
In the end, real nerds don’t need thick paper, fancy graphics, and lots of conceited pomposity to be happy about ourselves. We already know how awesome we are! …and for whomever supplied the subscription – thanks, but next year I’ll take Horticulture. Plants tend not to be terribly haughty…