Editor’s note: The following fantasy (or whatever it is) is a departure for this blog, which normally finds enough to amuse itself in real-life magazine history. However, having written it and not having any other obvious outlet for it, we’re posting it here.
It’s Editormania!
“I would distress my publicity directors because people wanted interviews with me and I wouldn't do them because I thought editors should be unseen and unheard. Do the work. Shut up. Get on with it.” — Robert Gottlieb, interviewed by Terry Gross on NPR’s “Fresh Air,” January 3, 2023.
The release of the documentary “Turn Every Page” has changed everything, several prominent editors say. The film, which focuses on the working relationship between the biographer Robert Caro and his longtime editor Robert Gottlieb, has given viewers a rare glimpse of what editors actually do and, in the process, led to a nationwide frenzy that can only be described as editormania.
“I’ve spent decades bemoaning the anonymity of the job,” one previously obscure editor says. “Now I’d give anything to have that back.”
On recent out-of-town trips, the editor reports, he has found himself chased through airports by eager selfie seekers and, in one instance, offered a romantic interlude in an unlocked utilities closet by a star-struck fan. He says he considered it, simply out of politeness, but ultimately declined.
“This,” he adds, “is not what I signed up for.”
Like all of the editors interviewed for this article, he asked to remain anonymous.
Personally touching an editor, or even an object once touched by an editor, has become an obsession for many fans. A wrinkled cocktail napkin believed to have been sneezed into by a well-known fashion magazine editor recently sold on eBay for over $800. “I think they want her DNA,” says one rival editor, speculating that the buyer might hope to clone her once the technology becomes available. "As if one of her wasn't enough."
The rival editor recently saw a pencil stub filched from her own wastebasket offered at the Buy It Now price of $499, while her used Post-its were going for $25 and up. She suspects that editorial assistants and junior editors at the company are sifting through the trash after hours and putting items up for sale to supplement their salaries. “I know living in New York is expensive for young people and I sympathize,” she says, “but what I would say to them is, ‘Don’t you realize that this could be you someday?’”
Some souvenir hunters have become even bolder, another editor reports. “I have had them come after me with scissors, trying to snip a piece of my clothing or even my hair,” she says. “One made off with my Lhasa Apso.”
A limo driver who often works for Manhattan-based magazine publishers says his life has changed, as well. “Used to be editors were easy,” he explains. “Now it’s like movie stars or boy bands. I’ve had fans splayed on the hood, pressing their noses against the windows, tailing us on scooters and electric bikes. I can spend half the day wiping off their fingerprints.”
On the other hand, he adds, the phenomenon has been good for business. Many publishing houses, he says, are now booking second and third limos to serve as decoys.
Some editors have given up on limos altogether. One women's magazine editor, formerly a self-described "Limousine Queen," now gets around town huddled in the back of a Boor's Head delivery truck.
But editors appear to be particularly vulnerable on foot. Tired of being accosted whenever he steps out of his office building, one 60-something book editor has taken to wearing a hoodie, not only on the street but even in the restaurants he frequents.
“The worst thing,” he says, “is when you’re walking down the street with one of your best-known authors, and a mob of groupies comes out of nowhere. The author starts to get his pen out, but then all anybody wants is the editor’s autograph. So the author has to stand off to the side, pretending not to care. I’ve had relationships ruined this way.”
Other editors say they can no longer go outside for a smoke without being pestered. “Even if they keep a respectful distance and don’t come up to you, the second you drop a cigarette butt, somebody’s diving for it,” one says.
The problem is not limited to New York. The Dallas-based editor of a major hunting magazine says fans have begun camping out at his favorite duck blind, hoping he’ll make an appearance. At night, he says, they will often gather around his home, making loud quacking noises until he comes to a window.
The Los Angeles-based editor of a leading automotive magazine has seen his cars repeatedly stripped by souvenir hunters. At a recent racing event, he says, one fan had the nerve to ask him to autograph a catalytic converter stolen the week before from a station wagon parked in his driveway. “It wasn’t even my car,” he says, shaking his head.
In Phoenix, the retired editor of a popular sports weekly says he’s stopped attending Diamondbacks games, once a favorite activity. “I’m signing so many baseballs I barely have time to look up,” he explains. “I tell the fans, ‘Why don’t you go get a player’s autograph, for God’s sake? And, no, I will not sign your lady friend’s chest.’”
Not every editor is bothered by the new attention. The longtime editor of a trade magazine serving the funeral industry says it’s had its plusses. “The wife makes fun of my dark glasses,” he says, “but she likes the way that maître d’s now fawn all over us.”
Incidentally, “Turn Every Page” will be screened at the Leon Levy Center for Biography at the CUNY Graduate Center on May 19, with a Q&A with director Lizzie Gottlieb to follow, as part of this year’s Biographers International Organization annual conference.
