An Argument Against Reading

Here is a simple rule. Avoid magazines with any of the following, or combinations of the following, on the cover: Celebrities, headlines about sex techniques or diets, and Oprah. This doesn’t leave much.

I caught a woman I know reading Shape magazine which is some sort of glamour/fitness rag. One of the cover headlines was about how to have "perfect" skin. That is what it is really all about in this day and age—being perfect. I’m sorry ladies, if you aren’t perfect I’m just going to throw your shit out in the street and change my phone number. Why should I settle for anything less than perfect? I’m an American! I want beer without carbohydrates; I won’t settle for less than 10 cylinders in my SUV; I only drink water from the French Alps; I deserve to be surrounded by perfect girls, and if they go wild from time to time then so be it.

The new American feminine beauty ideal of looking like someone who is battling a life-threatening illness by going to a tanning salon is on display in every fashion magazine in the nation. You can call this the “Yes, I’m starving; no, they’re not real; no, I’m not Mexican; and of course this isn’t my natural hair color” school of beauty.

The flip side of this sorry equation is the realm of men’s magazines. Maxim leads the way by espousing the “He who OD’s on coke with the most asinine electronic gadgets wins” philosophy of life. Good magazines are like sitting in a salon with brilliant people having an intelligent conversation. Maxim is like a couple of frat boys taking a pee together while they brag about some chick they banged. Maxim’s approach to male/female relations is the moral equivalent of teaching someone how to cheat at cards. To the writers at Maxim, a relationship with a woman is some sort of win or lose game, and they have what it takes for you to get ahead.

You say Self and I say Esquire; they are two words that both mean shit. Whether your magazine has Johnny Depp, or a woman baring her midriff on the cover, you’ll be better off not reading. Does my position regarding most men’s magazines mean that I am metrophobic (fear of metrosexuals)? I think I am just terrified of being stupid, and if you read these types of magazines you get dumber by the word. Not only are they almost completely free of any useful information they also wear away your ability to resist the forces of marketing. After a steady dose of glam mags you will break down and scream, “OK, I give up. Give me the God damned 340-horsepower HEMI® V8 Dodge Magnum RT and throw in the Rolex while you’re at it.” They call you a target market for a reason: Someone is aiming for you.