The name game: when it comes to your job title in the magazine publishing game, there is often more at stake than meets the editorial eye

Folio: The Magazine for Magazine Management, Nov 15, 1994 by John Brady

True Story: In August 1989, Douglas Dinsmoor, pigeon-holed as a circ nerd, happily switched hats and became associate publisher of Bostonia, a publication of Boston University. There, he managed, motivated and trained a staff of 15. Said the editor/publisher, who needed all the help he could get in advertising and business matters, "You're the publisher in everything but name."

As it would turn out, however, not having the title "in name" proved quite costly. Eighteen months after Dinsmoor took the job, the academic ax fell on budgets. "Hey, we already have a publisher," went the reasoning--"why do we need an associate publisher?" Wham. Dinsmoor was history.

The moral of this little tale is clear: You may be overseeing the troops and saving your boss's backside on a regular basis, but in the highly competitive environment of today's magazine world, what you are called is probably more important than what you do if push comes to shove at budget or salary/bonus time.

And so it goes. We are like animals in the wild, foraging for food and safety and survival. In an era of major restructuring on many mastheads, power and dominance are all part of the name game as players move about trying to establish turf that they can graze for sustenance. You need a scorecard to explain who's doing what--and to whom. Larry Burstein, for instance, recently moved from the position of publisher at Advance Publications' The New Yorker to publishing director of Hearst Magazines' Esquire/Esquire Gentleman, where Alan Stiles remains in residence as publisher of Esquire.

Nor is title-mania strictly a top-man-agement obsession. Everyone is proactive about namesmanship nowadays. I have seen mastheads that list secretaries, receptionists, shipping clerks and interns. Stuff Magazine, a tabazine for the Boston art crowd, includes beauty tipster, publisher's urologist and revenue princess as staff titles. (The revenue princess, of course, is responsible for billing ads.) Meantime, fact checkers want to be research editors. Art directors want to be design directors. Editors want to be editors in chief.

Since the reincarnation of Regardie's in Washington, D.C., owner/publisher William A. Regardie calls himself Direttore Responsabile. Meaning what? "It means he's the head honcho, the big cheese, the guy who signs the checks," says editor Richard Blow.

"It's my magazine," says the bombastic owner. "I can do anything I want."

Bill Regardie found the title in an Italian magazine several years ago and it fascinated him. Moreover, he wanted a new title for his role in the new version of Regardie's. "Publisher no longer fit because I have stepped away from the selling of advertising and the supervision of production," he explains. "And the whole idea is to build an idiosyncratic reputation in the marketplace. This title says immediately: 'Maverick publication straight ahead.'"

The only problem, of course, is that Regardie doesn't speak Italian and isn't sure how to pronounce his new title: "But most people who look at it don't know how to pronounce it either," he says. "So it's a standoff." Then, a bit insecurely, he asks: "Anybody else using it?"

Not yet. Even if Direttore Responsabile were to start appearing atop several of the glitzier fashion magazines, it would mean something different at each publication. The only constant in namesmanship is change. Ambiguity abounds. Consider the title managing editor, for instance. At some magazines, such as New York (owned by K-III Communications), the ME's job is heavy on coordination/production duties, "to make sure the trains are in on time," as a former staffer put it. At others, the ME job may be 95 percent administrative--overseeing budgets, developing schedules, making sure everything closes on time.

Then, of course, there is the Luce version of ME. At the Time Inc. publications, managing editor is four notches from the top, below editor in chief, editorial director and editor of new media. So who runs the magazine? "The title is a tradition from the old days of Henry Luce," explains Life managing editor Dan Okrent. "It goes back to the way newspapers were run in the twenties when he started Time. Newspapers were run by managing editors. Those who wrote editorials were called editors. Thus, Luce as editor in chief had managing editors at all his publications, and they reported to him. As late as the fifties, Life had a managing editor, followed by an editor, on the mast."

For the MEs at Time Inc., there is considerable autonomy. Each ME serves at the sufferance of the editor in chief, with the editorial director serving as an undersecretary of state. There are seven magazines, and Jason McManus, editor in chief, oversees four, while Henry Muller, editorial director, oversees three in a day-to-day sense. The general directive from on high is, "Let me see your covers, keep me posted if there's anything you think I need to know about--and go run your magazine."

"Each managing editor here has as much--or more--freedom as an editor in chief at Hearst or at Conde Nast," adds Okrent, "and a lot more than, say, the editor at Boston Magazine."