I just bought two lady magazines a Diet Coke and a coffee. My plan is to sit down, drink a lot of caffeinated liquid and pretend to know what I’m doing. I’m wearing red nail varnish (a throwback to my England trip -the honest truth I can’t find my nail varnish remover) and that’s making me surprisingly more comfortable turning the glossy pages.
I still feel a little like a fraud.
I don’t know who Cara Delevigne is and there’s a two-page story on her. It seems I’m expected to already know who she is -since they offer no explanation. I’m going to Wiki her on the sly under the table. Embarrassingly, you only need to put CARA into google and it knows who I’m looking for. Of course she’s a model! Holy crap -she was born in the 90s!
Moving on, a smattering of Sex Info that I find interesting, more celebrity gossipy stuff that I find less intimidating and head-first into shoes and junk that I think looks silly. It’s good to know that white and floral clothes are all the rage these days, a bunch of angry-looking models are staring at me.
There’s a Twilight Saga review in here that damn near made me cry.
I am so out of my depth!
I may be getting too serious about the supposedly light-hearted, sexy, glossy magazines but I can’t help thinking how enormously hollow it is -and in turn makes me feel. Instead of feeling like a newly-empowered, magazine-toting woman, I feel drained by every word in this thing. Don’t get me wrong, there are healthy elements to it, I find the sex advice very pro-woman, confidence-boosting and generally positive, then there’s a career section that has excellent guidance and an overall bold and encouraging message. That aside, I’m drowning in a sea of advertisements, designed to play on insecurities.
If I could pop a copy of Country Living or even Woman’s Way in to this sexy, glossy cover I would. I’d take knitting patterns, recipes, gardening pointers and calm innocence over looking at moody-looking models, self esteem-shattering celebrity comparisons, endless shallow wardrobe and cosmetic tripe on the hard sell any day. That sort of sums up the energy of it though, hiding my boring, middle-aged, domestic self under the guise of interest/participation in young, fashionable (empty, to my mind) endeavors.
I might keep the nail varnish but be out and proud with my choice of recreational reading.