Subscribe to The New Yorker

Last Saturday, on my youngest son’s seventh birthday, I subscribed to The New Yorker. I decided on the annual subscription of both digital and print edition. I hope my kids will pick up the paper magazines to read if they see them lying around the house.

Without a doubt, The New Yorker is one of my favorite publications. In my freshman year, my English teacher required us to subscribe to The New Yorker as part of our class assignments. Each week, we had to read an article in the magazine and wrote in our journal what we thought of it. My English at the time was horrible. I did not understand what I was reading. I didn’t take The New Yorker seriously because of illustration on the cover and the drawings throughout the magazine. What I hated The New Yorker the most was its long-ass essays.

After that English class, I never picked up The New Yorker again until many years later when I began my interest in reading and my English was good enough to understand its writings. I started to appreciate those long-form investigative reports and cultural commentaries, in which the writers had to put in tons of research. In addition, I appreciated its political coverages, which are grounded on facts, honesty, and integrity. They write the truth without the fear of political power and government pressure. The New Yorker is a cultural treasure. I hope that Condé Nast keeps it the way it is and won’t fuck with it like Jeff Bezos fucked up The Washington Post.

I had a subscription to The New Yorker for a few years before our first son was born. I had to cancel it because I could not keep up with the reading while being a new parent. In addition, I wanted to focus my time on reading long books. Now I need to manage my time better to see if I can read both in my spare time.