160 Pages That Proved Montana Wrong
Weeks of binge-watching Skins have given me a mid-Atlantic accent I didn’t ask for. That plus a summer of shepherding tourists around Berlin—Swedish schoolgirls, the cousin of the guys from Reamonn, one man who asked questions about absolutely everything—has left me in a persistent English headspace. Thinking in different registers.
Montana told me recently that print is finished. We’re internet people, she said—we’ll flatten the whole medium. I half-agreed, until Front landed in my hands. A hundred and sixty pages of the most concentrated filth I’ve encountered between two covers: sexy skater girls, alt-girl sets, chaotic editorial energy across every spread. Alex Sim-Wise has a column. That alone justifies the cover price.
The website holds up too—the kind of controlled mess that suggests the people making it are genuinely having fun. The current issue has Vikki Blows on the cover. I strongly doubt that’s her real name, but you’re allowed to want things.
Montana was wrong. A hundred and sixty pages of this is hard to argue with.