I was saddened to hear the news that Bauer were closing Cleo magazine, given the place it has in the hearts of those of us who grew up with it and loved it.

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The first issue of Cleo in 1972.

Of course it’s not surprising in this digital era. Back when it started, magazines were all we had, and boy did we consume them like fiends.

Cleo, in particular, was an icon in publishing, insofar as it completely reflected the young Australian woman.

My memories of Cleo are not so much the Paper Giants period, when it started with Ita Buttrose at the helm. I was more of a Dolly girl in those days – multi-coloured, striped knee-high socks, blue eyeshadow, platform sandals and all.

Centrefolds were not my thing, although the feminist idea that we too could happily enjoy something racier than the Women’s Weekly was groundbreaking.

See the most memorable Cleo centrefolds here

My favourite editions of Cleo were those under the editorship of Lisa Wilkinson, who embodied the spirit and sassiness of her reader. In fact, she was the reader – young, clever and ready to change the rules.

The energy of Cleo leapt off the page, featuring playful fashion, beauty and general interest stories that were close to our hearts.

We were all Elle MacPherson on the beach, with a taut midriff and a wide grin (I seem to recall Elle being on at least five covers a year, every year).

Elle Macpherson was a regular cover star.

The other cover star was the gorgeous Sonia Klein, with her chopped blonde hair, toothy grin and freckles.

It was glamorous, and sexy and cheeky and wholesome simultaneously, which is something I’ve never really seen a magazine demonstrate since.

The staff were inventing what magazines could look like for a new generation, not copying.

There were no advertiser edicts, no obvious plugs for product, no phony awards; none of this was required to keep afloat, because at its peak it was selling hundreds of thousands of copies.

Readers would mark the on-sale date in their diary (it may have been one of those with a lock and key).

I remember meeting the-then Cleo lifestyle and beauty editor Deborah Thomas at a lunch, when I was the beauty editor of Vogue. She was brimming with enthusiasm, her skin and eyes were shining.

When I enquired as to why she looked so amazing she replied that she had just finished a three-week beauty, diet and fitness regime in order to deliver a story. They lived the Cleo philosophy.

Sonia Klein was another ‘Cleo’ favourite.

There was strong delineation back then between Cleo and Cosmopolitan.

Cosmo was the Francesco Scavullo girl in the clingy lycra dress with the smoky eye and the eye-watering cleavage, who ate men for breakfast.

The Cleo girl had a cossie top and shorts on, and went surfing with men. When they talked about sex it was fun, not lurid.

Then there were, of course, the multiple-choice quizzes. God how I loved a quiz like ‘what sort of girl are you?’. I went into magazines hoping I could write those one day.

In hindsight, Cleo didn’t take itself too seriously, but it did the reader. You felt it was your friend, it arrived to make you happy, and to be honest with you.

I am sad that it has gone, for reasons of nostalgia, but information can be sourced anywhere these days, and the role of a magazine as a trusted adviser is waning.

So let’s raise a glass to Cleo. But not a glass of Champagne. Cleo would probably be sipping on a wine spritzer with ice.