Described as The Face meets Heat - or a cross between a pop Vanity Fair and a grown-up Smash Hits - the bi-monthly Trash is the offspring of a union between Vogue publishers, Condé Nast and the Ministry of Sound.
I hate the THIS meets THAT blabberish that one reads so often nowadays. It's like all the similies in the world have run out, and we can only describe something in referrential wankery (sorry, I feel extremely strongly about this). It's the new black. It's The Invisibles meets CD:UK. What happened to originality? Where have all the new words gone? It's like Ab Fab meets John Major: veneer of contemporary, but ultimately, deathly dull.
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