A Note on the Publication

On cultivated attention, durable taste, and the quiet intelligence of living well

“Intermezzo exists for the reader whose taste is already forming into conviction, and who finds, increasingly, that fewer things are made with him in mind.”

Intermezzo began as a private editorial project inside a broader portfolio of work concerned with craft, hospitality, family, objects, and the architecture of a considered life. Its founding observation was simple: there is no shortage of content about how to spend money. There is a striking scarcity of writing about how to live well.

The distinction matters. Spending is easy to document. Taste is harder to cultivate. It requires attention, memory, restraint, comparison, disappointment, and the willingness to let certain pleasures remain slow.

This journal is written for men, and for the women who recognize these sensibilities, who have developed their own point of view about what matters and how things ought to be done. The ones no longer impressed by price alone. The ones who have begun to notice that the best dinner is rarely the one most advertised, the most beautiful shoe is not necessarily the newest, the finest wine is not always the most discussed, and the point of education is not credentialing, but the formation of a mind capable of genuine pleasure.

The subjects range widely: tailoring and travel, wine and architecture, books and cigars, fatherhood and the quiet rituals of a considered life. What connects them is a shared conviction that beauty matters, craft deserves serious attention, and the manner in which a person inhabits his days is itself a form of intelligence.

Intermezzo was founded and is edited by Adam Simpson, as part of a larger body of work across strategy, hospitality, object culture, and ventures concerned with continuity. It is personal without being confessional, commercial without being promotional, and selective without being precious.

We publish slowly. We do not chase readership. The right few thousand readers are worth more than a million who arrived by accident and stayed for thirty seconds. This is the natural consequence of caring more about quality than reach.

The voice is lived in. It comes from real rooms, real meals, real bottles, real travel, real objects, and the continuing attempt to refine attention into taste. It does not perform taste. It studies it, practices it, and occasionally earns it.