From Wired’s editor-in-chief Scott Dadlich’s memo, regarding the new, and overly stylish, offices:

It’s an embarrassment: coffee stains on walls (and countertops and desks), overflowing compost bins, abandoned drafts of stories and layouts (full of highly confidential content), day-old, half-eaten food, and, yes, I’m going to say it, action figures. Please. WIRED is no longer a pirate ship. It’s the home of world-changing journalism. It’s the West Coast home of Condé Nast. And it’s increasingly a place where we, and our New York colleagues and owners, host artists, founders, CEOs, and advertisers.

This sounds horrible, and like a magazine being led even further into the gray mass. The whole piece is published on The Awl, where you can be appropriately stunned, or silently applaud, in which direction the creative juices are supposed to be flowing at Wired when they’ve moved in.