Tablet's big bet on print, a conversation with the editor

GenZ wants real and trusted media finds an answer

By Sarah Kass

The announcement came in an email: Tablet, an online news site I frequent, was launching a print magazine. Its editor, Alana Newhouse, put it this way: “By liberating you from the responsibility of being your own media, we are freeing you up to be something much more important—and frankly, much more radical in this moment: human.”

As someone who grew up reading print magazines—and still prefers physical books—I found the news exciting. But having watched the decline of legacy media, brick-and-mortar retail, and so much else IRL, the move also struck me as countercultural, if not downright strange.

I recently sat down with Alana to better understand the decision, and what she shared made sense—not just for Tablet, but for any business trying to make real-life engagement matter in an Amazon world where almost everything is a click away.

She described the media landscape of the past as divided between “hot” and “cool” publications. Newspapers were an urgent daily call to action; magazines, by contrast, invited a slower, more reflective engagement—an opportunity to absorb ideas that might shape our thoughts and feelings over time.

She elaborated. Social media, while introducing millions of new voices into the conversation, had blurred the line between hot and cool, largely burying the contemplative space beneath a flood of instant reactions to whatever is happening now. With the advent of AI, our feeds had only become faster and fuller, making it nearly impossible to pause and think for ourselves.

What surprised me most in our conversation was that it was Gen Z readers who had pushed Tablet to launch a print edition. Though they had no firsthand experience with print magazines, they had grown wary of what they were reading online. They understood just how easy it is to spin up a website posing as news or deploy a bot pretending to be an authority.

The same Gen Z that rejects most forms of authority was also seeking it—not necessarily to agree with it, but simply to know it existed. Essentially, they were saying: if someone takes the time to design and print a magazine, even if I don’t share their views, I can feel their investment. The effort itself fosters a sense of connection—and with it, a measure of trust.

Tablet’s younger readers were looking for something made by humans, for humans. Not fast fashion. Not fast food. Not something clickable and instantly forgotten. Not one-size-fits-all—but a special something meant for the right special few. They wanted something handmade. Something lasting. Something to be cherished.

The new Tablet magazine looks and feels like a work of art. Its weight lies not only in the depth of its articles, but in the texture of its design. As Alana put it: if you take the time to research and write something serious, it shouldn’t be gifted in a paper bag—it should arrive in a Tiffany’s box. Beautiful design, grounded in substance—not fluff dressed up to look expensive—signals a valuable product for a valued reader.

What subscribers receive at their door appears online ten days later—still behind a paywall—redirecting FOMO from fast to slow, from hot to cool, and reminding readers that they are human beings who matter.

To be sure, we are lucky to live in a world that’s literally at our fingertips. But we’re even more fortunate when what we read, what we buy, and where we go—even when it costs more—makes us feel seen, considered, and worth the effort.