Let's be The New Yorker magazine

I’m the word élite, spelled with an acute accent, in the magazine’s bespoke “Irvin” typeface.

I'm the umlaut (two dots) over one of the Os in "cooperate."

Actually, they're not even umlauts, they're diaereses.

I am the excellent crossword puzzle!

I'm the one interesting article every three issues. That's not enough to keep on subscribing.

I'm a dry, droll cartoon geared toward boomers still working an office job.

We're coöperate, de-luxe, and teen-ager.

I’m the word preëxisting. Do you appreciate my diaeresis? It’s quirky, yet erudite.

I'm Jeffrey Toobin's cum-stained copy.

Eponymous. Penultimate. Ouvre.

I'm a cartoon.

I'm the 59 issues sitting unread on my coffee table.

I’m the ghost of Pauline Kael.

'm the fact-checker who, in pursuit of exactitude, asks story sources cringey questions such as "Are you completely bald?"

I'm all the ancient editors who still pine for the Shawn era and think that this whole technology thing will pass as they angrily edit the humanity and spirit out of every piece that comes their way.

I am words.

I'm admitting the editorial agenda

I’m Eustace Tilley. But you knew that.

I am the delightful tote bag that came with a new subscription.

I am whimsy.

I'm the 80s when it was fun to be young and read this on the subway along with Vanity Fair.

I'm a 10,000 word feature about a transgender Francophone who makes artisanal cheeses in Baton Rouge.

I had older friend years ago tell me that, “The New Yorker magazine is like a cat. You don’t know why you still keep it around but you feel like you should, even though it looks down on you.”

I'm the anus that apparently no one at The New Yorker has.

I'm the cartoons people like you just aren't smart enough to laugh at

I’m Tina Brown telling the art director at the last minute “Well, I just don’t like It“ about the cover art she previously approved that everyone has been working on for weeks.

I'm the needlessly wordy and academic (yet entertaining) review of a basic, non-arty film such as Bridesmaids.

I’m the computer generated artwork accompanying the fiction. I’m either a glaringly obvious reference or don’t relate to the story at all. Either way, I’m bad.

I'm the cheesy attempts at humor that are supposed to attract young people but only attract flies.

I'm the 14 subscription cards within every issue.

I'm the incredible shrinking page count.

I'm the insertion, since George Floyd, in every article about how black (sorry, Black) people were affected: "Of course, Black orchid growers were worst-hit by the increase in mealybug infestations."

I’m the caustic but hilarious Anthony Lane movie review.

I'm an interesting article. I pop up in the magazine once every seven months.

I’m Jeffrey Toobin’s deeply unimpressive erection.

I'm the crossword that sucks compared to ones from the NYT and the WSJ, but I include a few references to trendy and artsy things, so I think I'm much better than I am. AMIRIGHTBITCHES

I’m another delightful article about our favorite person Paul Rudd written by Paul Rudnick.

I’ll be recycled when David Ian Black writes about Dustin Lance Black.

R9 - It is spelled "Oeuvre". Back to People Magazine with you!

I'm the excellent cartoons by Roz Chast:

Those cartoons are the best.

I am The New Yorker Font. I pay homage to Rea Irvin, the visionary who lent The New Yorker its unique voice and identity. Echoing Wiescher’s sentiments, Irvin’s craftsmanship is so timeless that reviving it for contemporary times was nothing short of imperative.

You may download me and I will be for you a symbol of sophistication, a unique aesthetic gracing your pages giving them a timeless and sophisticated feel.

I am the now sadly slimmed down one-page “Goings On”

I'm the pioneering product placement with the magazine prominently displayed in the movie 42nd Street shown as equally sophisticated showgirl Bebe Daniels makes 𝘥𝘰𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘴 about how she got the job

I'm Francine du Plessix Gray. No, I'm Joan Acocella. No, I'm Janet Malcolm.

Since when does the New Yorker have a crossword puzzle?

I'm the shortened articles -- half the length of yesteryear; dumbed down for a poorly educated and attention-flitting cohort of readers unaccustomed to deep-focus thinking.

I'm the fumes of past success on which the whole operation is flying.

r44, they've had crossword puzzles online for a bit now. They started putting them in the print edition in 2021, I think.

MOM AND DAD SAVE THE WORLD (1992)

Starring Teri Garr, Jeffrey Jones, Jon Lovitz, Wallace Shawn, Eric Idle, etc.

I just realized I posted this in the wrong thread.

Mea culpa.

Well, there was a Shawn connection—we were willing to give you that much….R48

I'm the insane approach to punctuation. So many periods.

I’m the pithy capsule reviews in About Town. My all-time favorite: “Starlight Express—A bore on roller skates.”

I am EVERYTHING that appeals to white people who never cook at home!