All women’s magazines are obviously shit. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think men’s magazines are too great either, but if you compare it to Cosmo, Maxim looks like the epitome of comedy and entertainment. I sometimes cave before a long train journey and fork out some money on a magazine. I always regret it. I enjoy reading stupid crap about celebrities, I really do. And I’d like the odd make-up or skincare tip.. I’m not completely out of their target demographic, I do share some interests with the stereotype of woman. But women’s magazines are so mindlessly stupid. the makeup tips aren’t tips. They’re shopping lists (ok, not surprising). The celebrity gossip is always about 3 weeks old, and purely speculation. Pretty much any magazine you pick up has the following bullshit non-articles. Flick through any one and tell me I couldn’t add 50 pages of ads and fake advice columns sponsored by Tampax, stick Jessica Alba in a bikini on the front and sell it.
1. two page spread on how Jennifer Aniston wants to claw out Angelina Jolie’s eyes or is trying to adopt a gay baby or desperate to get back with Brad. “A source close to the star” says she talks for hours about some pathetic topic and then the rest of the article is padding that mentions a few of the films Aniston has acted in, a few other non-events that might have upset her in the past year, and the rest is photos of her looking nonplussed while reading a book.
2. Is your boyfriend seeing prostitutes behind your back? 5 tips for paranoid bitches.
3. Get some ridiculously hot woman’s look at a fraction of the price. Here’s a photo of a photoshopped celebrity in full makeup, and a list of 15 products that are similar in colour to the ones she’s wearing, but that won’t have the same kind of effect on you because you look completely different, and no one’s looking at the colour of her eyeshadow anyway. If it was an interesting or difficult look, fair enough. But it’s always Jessica Alba or someone similar wearing neutral colours. Are there people so gullible they go out and buy beige eyeshadow and soft pink lipstick in the hope that someone will mistake them for Jessica Alba? Or are the magazines catering for the niche market of people who look very much like Jessica Alba but have previously been clowning it up and ruining their natural hotness with silvery blue eyeshadow?
4. An interview with some bitch no woman actually likes, advertised on the cover as “X tells all” or “X Revealed!” but in reality is just a bunch of bullshit that could be interchanged with any other female celebrity. When I read an interview with some gorgeous bitch, I just want to steal her secrets to being skinny. That’s all I care about. I know what her secret is. She has a personal trainer and eats proper portions, and wouldn’t be famous or earn so much money if she gains weight. That’s the truth, but instead she attributes it to some new yoga/ dance hybrid before adding with a giggle that she “can’t live without hamburgers.” Fuck you, bitch.
5. Some offensive guide to being more successful with men, supposedly written from the top-secret man camp no woman can ever venture near. Never mind that the magazine is aimed at adults who, stupid as they (we?) are, have probably had a few male friends or even relationships with men. No, in this guide we get a glimpse of the mysterious male psyche, and a few gems from some grinning idiot we’re supposed to think would go out with us all if we just stopped being so insecure. Tips range from “don’t wear so much makeup” to “be yourself.” These particles of misinformation and the lack of mention of a blow job, anywhere, leads me to believe it wasn’t a man who wrote this article at all, but someone’s mother.
6. Horoscopes fill up a few of the last pages, which is cool because I like to play horoscopes when I’m bored, and there’s more to read than the last 120 pages of ads for crap I should think I need but am conflicted about because Cameron Diaz also said I should feel beautiful from the inside, or something. Sometimes it’s fun to compare the horoscopes for the same sign in a few different magazines, but that’s better saved for the doctor’s waiting room, when you’re really bored. For shorter trips, like the bus to work, you can just enjoy reading how 6,000,000,000 people’s week will be unfolding. It’s an awesome power, knowing that if you were to guess what was going to happen to every single person on the world next week, even just guessing one of the 12 options would mean you’d be right about 500,000,000 of them. I used to like astrology because it was flattering, and it made a lot of sense. I had all the qualities of a Scorpio. What a great sign. Then I started reading all the other signs. If I did with the other 11 what I had done with Scorpio, which is focus on the bits I like and disregard those I didn’t, I could just as easily claim to belong to any other sign. And that was all when I was around 12 years old, so I figured out that was a pile of crap before some of my peers found out about Santa. (Seriously. Well, there was one girl in my class…)
7. Some heart-melty piece about women in Africa starting their own businesses, or children with leprosy or something. These articles are probably sponsored by Veet waxing strips who promise to put 1 cent of from the sale of pink bikini wax towards some charity. Feel bad for a second, then turn to the next page. Ooh, luxury holidays.
What was I doing? Venting about magazines. This was actually meant to be about how much I hate all things marketed to women, but I got sidetracked. Magazines are just so shit. And then there are films and tv programs featuring women who have been obsessed with Cosmo or Elle or something since they were teens. I’ve bought more magazines over the years than I’d care to ever be reminded of in monetary value, but I always hated myself for buying them. I’d prefer to be caught masturbating than reading Marie Claire by someone I respect, although I do read that shit on the bus (but I maintain an incredulous, disgusted expression on my face at all time, and it is in front of my fellow bus zombies and no one I know).
Well, sorry to leave like this, I can’t stay up all night hating stuff, I need my beauty sleep as advocated by Demi Moore in this month’s Glamour.