- Lupa ,Where did you go ?

Being at work has some exciting moments for me. One of them is when the magazines arrive. Some days from Italy, others from China. Then suddenly in an unexpected hour, Gabe will bring upstairs the magazines from Japan. India might follow. Spain will also say good afternoon usually on a Friday reminding us that its passionate red travelled all the way from Europe to find us for the weekend. Once a month Greece arrives as well to remind me that I miss her blue colors. And just in time when I need to receive some fresh air, the issues from Russia appear. From so many magazines, what I mainly like reading is the editor's letter because it reminds me that magazines are mainly a way of connecting and communicating with the readers.

Today I decided to share with you the February letter from

Nikolay Uskov, Editor in Chief of GQ Russia.

The traditional Slavic name for February is luten, meaning "ferocious one". Honestly, though, as Russian winter months go, which one isnt? Even an occasional April qualifies for the title. At any rate, the velvety-sounding Roman Februarius was about something quite different from our snowbanks and piercing winds. The highlight of February in ancient Rome was a rather lewd feast, the Lupercalia, celebrating the she-wolf, who suckled Romulus and Remus, while apparently also celebra-ting the fact that the word for she-wolf, lupa, could mean a prostitute. It involved running around the streets naked and lashing random girls with goatskin straps. The girls would then get naked too. You can imagine where it went from there, and weirdly enough, the whole event was considered "purifying" by the Romans. Sadly, what's left nowdays of this wonderfully sadomasochist, exhibitionist, voyeurist and whatnot-ist tradition, is its corniest and most boring part;that is, the pieces of paper with hearts on them. Ancient Romanettes would put notes with their names on them into an urn, from which ancient Ro-men would then draw them, lottery -style, and go to cohabit for a year with whos-ever name had turned up. Not knowing who you 'd draw made it as bad as looking for a date on a social networks, so good thing we dont have that barbaric custom anymore. In later times, an unsuspecting saint by the name of Valentine happened to be beheaded around the time of Lupercalia, became fused in the popular imagination with another saint of the same name (also beheaded), an ended up forever associated with paper hearts, balloons, stuffed kittens and all the other stupid junk that's now bringing nations and faiths together.

I wish running around the streets naked had gone cross-cultural instead, but happy Valentine's anyway.

Nikolay Uskov