The Luxurious Death Rattle of the Great American Magazine

Let me tell you about my first lunch with Art Cooper, the late, legendary editor of GQ magazine. It was 1990, and he was trying to lure me away from Esquire, where I had been writing a monthly business column for several years. Along with The New Yorker, Vanity Fair, and Vogue, GQ was one of the marquee publications of Condé Nast, the iconic magazine company with a reputation for profligacy. So I knew the pay was likely to be good. But the lunch was intended to give me a taste of just how freely Condé Nast spent its money.

We ate at the Four Seasons in the Seagram Building, on Park Avenue. Back then, it was Manhattan’s premier power lunch spot, also known as the Condé Nast cafeteria because so many of its editors and top executives ate there every day. The maître d’, Julian Niccolini, greeted Art effusively, and led him to his usual table. Without even asking, a waiter brought him a cocktail. Art ordered the spécialité de la maison: an absurdly expensive piece of Dover sole. I had the lamb chops. We went through two bottles of wine, and after we had settled on the financial terms, we celebrated with several glasses of cognac. When lunch was over, three hours later, Art and I staggered out without even looking at a bill. It was sent directly to the Condé Nast accounting department.