The appetite for going behind the curtain at glossy fashion magazines continues to be insatiable — perhaps even more so now we find ourselves in a world of toxic algorithms. So what could be better than travelling back to the early Noughties, before the financial crash, when the champagne flowed, Manolo Blahniks were vertiginous and section editors had their own offices, assistants, expense accounts and were deliciously ill-behaved.
It’s a world with which Caroline Palmer, former editor of vogue.com, is well-acquainted and has mined rigorously for her debut novel. She captures the bizarre and unspoken lore which governs a magazine and which you can only really understand if you have been entrenched inside it.
