Lola

I say this without having seen the first copy of this, this thing (imagine that: I can't find the cute little red Lola holders in Roslindale; must be because we lost all our chic little boutiques). And I say it while trying not to gag while reading the editor's note on the mostly-empty Lola Web site, which reads like a bad drunken parody of an editor's note for a magazine aimed at hip young women: "And if Lola doesn't have the answers, she knows just who to turn to for advice, from relationship experts to real estate gurus. Oh, and she has an excellent astrologer." And, of course, I say this without being one of Lola's targeted "smart and sassy" Boston women, who knows that "getting into Fenway Park is as hard as getting into Harvard" and who "loves nightclubbing and shopping, of course, but [is] also well-read, financially savvy, and engaged in the world around her."

So yeah, anyway, Lola's supposed to be all about trading hot tips for chic, with-it women. Of course, that's why God gave us Daily Candy. But everybody knows that publishing these days is really about community. You want your readers interacting with each other (and no, silly, not just because you get free content to fill your pages with now that you've laid off all those pesky reporters).

Hmm, that sounds familiar. Oh, yeah, right, like Confidential Chat. Remember that? Decades before the hot, hip young Web doyennes were blathering on and on about "community," the Globe had this feature where women could congregate and trade ideas and tips. Of course, the Globe killed it. And now we have Lola. Bah.