SHELTER MAKEOVER Dominos pages were filled with explicit advice, so readers could translate what they saw into their own homes.
Indeed, their sheer numbers seem to pose a question: why would a giant media company like Condé Nast cut off access not only to its present - energetic young women eager to shop at Target for mirrored tiles to glue around a fireplace, as Sandee Royalty did recently in her suburban Houston home, following something she saw in Domino - but also to its future? Here was vivid proof of a dedicated fan base for a magazine that seemed perfectly poised to transition to the Web, that in fact already had an appealing Web presence, rather than the awkward foothold sites of most Condé Nast titles.īut while its circulation was strong and growing, advertising numbers, much more important, demanded it die: it received less than half the amount of advertising pulled in by Architectural Digest last year (a drop of 4.5 percent from 2007, according to Media Industry Newsletter).ĭid Domino’s demise augur the crumbling of a larger, cultural movement, characterized by a girlish and fizzy optimism and an appetite for Jonathan Adler ceramics and Parsons tables from West Elm, and peopled by thousands of crafty, handy young women - like Carrie Bradshaw but cooler, with fewer shoes, better values and a mortgage? For a few hours last week, posters on Design Sponge grew so excited by their own numbers, they wondered if they might petition Condé Nast and agitate for a stay of execution for their beloved title.Īnd why not? In under four years, Domino had succeeded in attracting the young, energetic readers that all media profess to desire beyond all else. Angelotta is emblematic of the Domino readership. Sewbettie is the screen name of Cara Angelotta, 25, a second-year medical student in Chicago who runs a fabric company,, with her boyfriend, Mark Cesarik. Deborah Needleman, the editor, at home after the fold.
NO SHELTER Readers of Domino protested its demise last week.
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