Sports Illustrated and Pitchfork are effectively no more. The former might actually be dead—mass layoffs resulting from a dubious financial arrangement—and the latter will exist, in some diminished form, merged into GQ. The news disquieted me in different ways, and it occurred to me I’m one of the rarer people who, at one time, cared equally about what each publication had to say. For one place, my feelings were uncomplicated, my reverence plain. For the other, resentment and fascination blended, and I was never sure what I wanted out of its future.
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