iiii Magazine is an independent arts and culture publication, based in London and Manchester. We talk about culture in the sense suggested by Francis Bacon, when he said of intellectual enrichment: 'the culture and manurance of minds’. Our approach to culture is the same: that something bright and engaging may be derived from detritus. We love cultural ephemera in particular, and despite Bacon’s near-perfect turn of phrase, it is the position of the magazine that it is not sufficient. We publish articles that stretch our assumptions of what culture can be, so long as they are forged with originality.
We place no limits on subject matter or form — we have published incisive criticism, personal essays and memoirs, humour pieces and odes to oddities — but we take as a guiding principle this from Flann O’Brien’s The Third Policeman (1967):
‘Always ask any questions that are to be asked […] Turn everything you hear to your own advantage. Always carry a repair outfit. Take left turns as much as possible. Never apply your front brake first’.
¶ Visit Our Shop
Support the magazine by visiting our SHOP.
~ With the help of Studio Hyte, we created a football (scarf) with no crest, no local, nor national allegiance — a garment that challenges the ugly attitudes that alienate so many from the beautiful game.
~ As well as looking fresh, your (scarf) is also doing its bit to address the aforementioned issues, with 10% of all profits raised donated to LGBT charity Stonewall (Charity number: 1101255)
¶ Work With Us
iiii Magazine is a non-profit organisation, and our modest team of editors, reporters, and social scribes work on a voluntary basis. We do have plans to address this in the future. As it is we are looking for a creative, driven individual to join the team, to help shape future editions. If you would like to work for iiii Magazine, do send a CV and a cover letter outlining the sort of role you would like to take to email@example.com. We will do our best to get back to you quickly.
¶ Forthcoming Editions
A Publication by iiii Magazine: A look at football culture through twenty classic kits
(crest) is a book that entwines history, design, and football culture to enliven debate about belonging — both local and national — in a fractious British and European moment. Classic football kits are artefacts highly sought after by collectors and fans alike. Is this a question of design, of a club’s success, or of nostalgia? Can it be all or none of these things? In twenty short essays by twenty writers, (crest) charts the peculiar histories of each of the 2018/19 Premier League football clubs through the lens of a prized classic kit from the past decades. The book takes football seriously at its root, and looks at how larger forces drive the sense of allegiance of football-loving individuals — what hidden personal stories make the Beautiful Game beautiful when it can seem so ugly?
Produced by iiii Magazine, (crest) will feature quality photography and minimalist design. iiii encourages deep and engaged archival research, as well as idiosyncratic and strange personal stories. Whatever the mode or the form, iiii Magazine is committed to providing generous editorial support to writers.
The online publication continues all year round, and publishes articles in three broad categories:
- Esoterica and funny writing [the stranger, more parochial, the better]
- Long-form interviews and features
- The 500 [react, respond in 500 words to an artefact, a lyric, a piece of punctuation, anything]
If your text does not fit into one of the above categories, don't fret, we just need a pitch. Please send a query or an extract from your text to firstname.lastname@example.org with SUBMISSION in the subject line. Work should be previously unpublished; but we will consider work under consideration elsewhere if you let us know. We are run by a team of volunteers, and thus we are unfortunately not yet in a position to offer a fee.
Please provide a short author’s bio-line which will be published under your piece. 'Algenon Overling is a fictional writer based in 12th Century Denmark. He likes to relax with his kestrel and his crossbow. Good with kids’.
Please defer to the short style guide. It not only saves on editorial nit-picking, but illustrates commitment to the publication.
- Oxford commas, yes. In lists of three or more things, include a comma between the final two, before the ‘and’ (Manchester, Leeds, and London).
- Titles of books, films, exhibitions italicised. Titles of artworks ‘Like This’ (2018).
- One space after full-stops. Always.
- ‘Use single quotation marks “except for quotes within quotes” at all times’.
- Include spaces before and after em-dashes. (I wouldn’t — but for in unlikely circumstances — consider a teacake).
- Dates: 5 May 2016 / Decades: 1980s.
- Special formatting requirements are difficult to manage on an optimised website, but we will always try to meet a writer’s needs.
Mutt unleashed, lembas bread wrapped and San Pellegrino packed, Tom says 'Up we go' with a twinkle in his eye as he turns to ascend. Dutifully, I canter after my hard-bodied guide, stumbling over the raspberry thicket, my heart aflutter, and moistened brow cooled by the Devonian breeze. “This’ll be no bother this will”, he says, his West Country lilt alighting a newfound vigour within me. 'Don’t mean that Scrumpy’s o’er the hill no hard less earned, no'. For the first time I find my lust for cider dulled and my appetite for gradients whetted. It can’t end, I want to walk these hills forever.
'This ‘ere then, this be the "Broadclyst Pooper!"', he chortles, his brimming chest shuddering, a knee slapping guffaw revealing a darkened patch of armpit sweat. ‘So, he is human’, I thought, bringing an end to a long ponderance on the mobility of marble. I laughed along sheepishly, doing my utmost to participate in what was obviously a longstanding local lark likening circular shrubbery to that of an anus. The self-ascribed mirth obviously churning the snuff, he let out a mighty lugie then blew his nose clear, sans kerchief. 'Right, there be a nice river to cool off in on the other side of this here crack'. I choked on the mineral water, doubling over. He slapped my back with the calloused hands of the arborist he was, setting off down the colon. 'Not far now ya babber!'
Primrose and celandine blossomed through the hardened cow patties that spotted the field, turning the fenced square into a paddock of patchy bloom. It was quiet, with only the spearing of my stilettos through topsoil and the squelching thud of his man feet to ring in my ears. I couldn’t see it through the treeline but could hear the running waters of the River Teign just beyond it.
Suddenly, the quince paste was rising in my throat, with close mouthed belches bringing the fetid prologue of vomit. He turned back, the nerve induced syncopation of my steps pricking his sharp country ears. 'Not far now jelly legs, you’ll ‘ave yer kit off in no time'. The smile he smiled before looking back ahead, coupled with the notion of nudity saw the Membrillo hurtle upwards, chunkily reconstituted, to fill my cheeks. As he ducked down beyond the treeline, I spluttered lunch out the same way it had come in, a once-amber-now-brown sludge splattering across the wild meadowsweet. 'Oh that's loverley that is!' I hear through the dense foliage. I wipe my face clean and bury the sullied bonnet in the dirt. I amble down the path to the river bank. As I make my way clear of the overhang, my lace levee breaks and state of moisture turns to gush, a torrent bursting through the French artisanship. His blonde mop wet and slicked back revealed his clear blue eyes in a bobbing head, two meat spears perforating my essence as his gaze coursed through my soul.
'You coming then lurve?'.
'Mr Gaisford', I hoarsely replied, clearing the Southern belle from my throat before continuing.
'I’m afraid I already have'.