Dear friends,
It feels like everything’s gone wrong, doesn’t it? Actually, it’s worse than that; it feels like everything’s going wrong. All the time, endlessly. I spent so much of my life excited for the future, and now it’s hard to look ahead with that same eager anticipation. The internet - once the beacon of hope that humanity might achieve greater things - seems to have turned against us; trillionaires are, bafflingly, trying to make everything worse; the rent, or the mortgage, keeps going up; every newspaper economist is modelling exactly when your job will be replaced by AI, and the cost of a pint is catching up with too many people’s hourly wage.
So, what to do? I’m 36, which means, statistically, the answer is to start a podcast. And while I can’t rule that, or the accompanying early-to-mid-life crisis, out completely, I’ve decided to start a magazine instead.
This will be a magazine for everyone who refuses to accept that life can’t be, well, a bit…nicer. It’s drummed into us from an early age by well-meaning English teachers that we shouldn’t use the word ‘nice’. And historians will rightly point out that its meaning has evolved from the Latin ‘nescius’ to mean ignorant or unaware. But, despite the English language’s vast million-word vocabulary, we seem to lack one to express wanting anything to be good, pleasant or joyful, just for the very reason that goodness, pleasantness, and joy are virtues in and of themselves. It is perhaps no wonder that the concept is missing from our national conversation.
If I’m not being clear, let me give you an example. In Tokyo, there are over five hundred different melodies, all carefully composed, for the various train stations that form the network of subways, commuter trains, and Shinkansens that connect the Japanese capital. Why? Simply to make the environment more pleasant, or “a bit nicer”. If Transport for London embarked upon a project to do the same for tube stations, the reaction would be painfully predictable; criticism from the full gamut of British politics, from both the left and the right, crying about “taxpayers’ money” and “waste”. Yet, this is a nation that is collectively crying out for better times, while constantly expressing that nothing seems to be quite as good as it once was. Any attempt to talk about happiness, especially by politicians, is met with derision. Commissioning an artwork to decorate an NHS hospital? Prepare for an onslaught of questions on why the money isn’t being spent on frontline care. The hammer price for the most expensive artwork ever sold, Da Vinci’s Salvator Mundi, wouldn’t even cover a day’s worth of the health service. The savings from not purchasing a few watercolours from a local artist wouldn’t pay for a few seconds.
I’m not so naive that I don’t understand how we got here. Of course, spending money on ‘niceties’ while millions subsist on food banks leaves a bad taste in the mouth. And if gargantuan spending does get signed off, it results in a high-speed train line that has - absolutely literally - cost more than getting to the moon, or useless PPE equipment that rivals the price of designer clothing.
What a nightmare! Of course, a magazine won’t fix this. But it might bring together people who want to change things for the better, and take a stand against the peculiarly British doom loop that seems to make any improvement feel impossible.
In the end, I’ve plumped for the pursuit of making things “greater” as the central purpose of Paperweight, in the hope that it attracts less ire than “nice” might.
And I mean it in the broadest sense. Greatness is the antidote to the sense of depression and helplessness that grips the nation. Paperweight does not need to choose a narrow set of topics; too much about our lives, livelihoods and the country we’re living in needs rescuing from the grip of unhappiness.
When I decided to start a magazine, the reader in mind was those who grew up in the warm sunlight of prosperity that defined the close of the 20th century, and for whom life hasn’t been as endlessly improving as promised. A generation that pre-dates the internet, yet understands it inside out, seeking out a slightly more analogue way of reading about worldwide affairs, travel, society, culture, and design, in the face of an onslaught of AI slop and a degraded news environment. Perhaps it is arrogant, considering I include myself in this cohort, but I firmly believe that these are the people who will lead the world through the most overwhelming challenges of the 21st century.
Caught in the consequences of the sharp rise in the cost of renting or buying a house, this is a generation determined to continue enjoying the finer things in life, live well, live long, and get the most out of their own city and those around the world. They are as likely to be found in a club or late-night bar as they are in a heritage transport museum or historic site. They might cycle to work, but also own a car. They are most likely to be active in their local community, while being a citizen of the world. They are curious about how society is working, but unsatisfied with the failing structures that they have inherited.
My hope is for Paperweight to be an aperture to ideas for all those who know they need not choose.
Paperweight’s mission:
The curiosity to dream that greater things - and a greater world - are possible.
So Paperweight won’t choose between long reads on innovative social policies and restaurant reviews. Set lunch for a Michelin Guide restaurant that costs less than £30? It's in On the Town alongside ticket offers to exhibitions and theatre shows. Features on the state of the UK’s railway system and what to do about it? It’s in En Route, but alongside electric car reviews, and the appreciation of cycling and long walks. And if you want to hear a special report from Vienna on social housing, but might also quite like to know the best hotel in the city to stay in for under £200, you’ll find it in Out of Town. This is a magazine for the grossly underserved ‘nerdy-but-epicurean’ category of readership.
So if this sounds at all intriguing, I hope you’ll subscribe to find out what Paperweight has to offer. And if you’re not ready to commit just yet, do sign up for the free Sunday Paperweight email briefing, delivered to your inbox every Sunday morning.
Onward to greater (and nicer!) things.
