The mention of Mr. Tagg's name in the social column attracts some gentlemen of the press: Mr. Tagg gracefully submits to an interview

Charles Dana Gibson skewers the new celebrity-press machinery in this crisp pen-and-ink ensemble. At right, the corpulent Mr. Tagg sprawls in an armchair with studied nonchalance, a terrier at his heel reinforcing his air of comfortable self-satisfaction. Around him cluster the 'gentlemen of the press': a seated reporter scribbles furiously, a boy stenographer perches attentively between them, and two standing men—one gesticulating, one chin-in-hand—debate their angles. At far left, a press photographer mans a large-format camera on a tripod. Gibson's satire lands squarely on nouveau-riche vanity and the voracious society column culture that manufactured overnight notables from nothing more substantial than a printed name.