It's mostly advertisements and pretty pictures. It's stupid. It's repetitive. It preys on your every insecurity and probably kills hundred of brain cells if you look at it.
It's Cosmo, and I like it.
I'm not exactly sure how I got into reading Cosmo, but around the middle of each month I start hunting the grocery store racks for the newest issue. When I get home, it always goes in the bathroom to be browsed at my leisure.
Cosmo: For me to poop on.
Cosmo: For me to poop on.If you've ever read Cosmo more than once, you've probably noticed that the magazine is kinda short of fresh ideas. Most articles involve the same old crap:
1. Stuff about how to get or keep a man
2. New sex positions (which are really the same ones over and over again with different names)
3. Stupid interviews with a marginal celebrity (what's your favorite body part?)
4. Some sort of story about rape or stalkers or kidnapping or disease that's designed to scare the crap out of you.
5. Picture of a dude without his shirt on
Of course, besides the tiny articles, there's a ton of ads for clothes and makeup. My favorite feature is usually the embarrassing 'confession' stories which generally involve a) getting caught having sex b) expelling your own bodily fluids or gases in public, typically while on a date c) doing something mean to a roommate. Heh heh, stores about getting your period and ruining your new boyfriend's parents' couch are ALWAYS FUNNY, damnit!
The thing is, the entire magazine is designed to make you feel like a totally unsophisticated, unsexy, ugly troll. As in, you dress like a hobo, here's what you should be wearing instead. And your face would make small children cry, so plaster it with all of these cosmetics, for the love of everything good and holy. Plus, you couldn't get a man if you had Super Bowl tickets and a ribeye steak stapled to your forehead, so here are some totally desperate ways to find a dude. And once you get him, here's some nearly impossible sex positions you can try that pretty much guarantee several trips for at least one of you to the chiropractor. But the worst part is, they hide all this under a 'you go, girl!' guise.
But in spite of all this, I still read the damn thing! In fact, I feel so bad about it I got a subscription to BUST magazine (which is kind of a grrrrl 'zine) just to offset the grody feelings I get every time I pick up an issue.
It could be worse, I guess. I mean, I could be reading...um...shit, I can't think of anything worse. Damn it all.
No comments:
Post a Comment