"Why a magazine? Look, let's throw it back to a time when the comic kingpin, Stan Lee, was asked if he ever fretted about people getting over comic books. His epic clapback? "Comics are like boobs. They look great on a computer, but I'd rather hold one in my hand." Now, that's a whole mood. Fast forward to today's age of endless scrolling and double-tapping, where social media, arguably a failed experiment, peaked with Myspace and you will find a rebel yell screaming for a return to better days!  ​ ​Remember those sacred quests we embarked on to snag the latest art and niche mags? Those glossy bad boys lived with us—shoved in backpacks, rolled up in back pockets, and carried close to our hearts. We obsessed over every photo, pouring over snapshots of our idols. We feasted on tales of lives we lusted after, let these pages dictate our fashion choices, and hell, even smuggled a few risqué editions past our unsuspecting folks—a rite of passage that felt like harboring forbidden treasure. So, why a magazine? Because we too rather hold boobs in our hands!