Why I Don't Read Women's Magazines

I bought Elle magazine the other week for the first time in years, one of only a handful of times ever. The only reason I bought it was because of the free Clinique superbalm lip gloss it had with it, which is a silly reason because:

1. I am morally opposed to Elle magazine. Perhaps a little strong, but not far off the truth. And I should clarify that I feel that way about most, if not all, women's magazines (fashion, gossip, lifestyle, whatever) and not just Elle.
2. I rarely, if ever, wear lip gloss.
   

Anyway, after spending £3.70 on a lip gloss that I will probably barely use, I thought I may as well have a quick skim through the magazine, just in case things have changed in women's fashion and beauty 'journalism' since I stopped buying into it.

Of the first 57 pages of the November UK issue, the composition of content was as follows:

• List of Contents (2 pages)
  
• Advertisement for Elle magazine's website, elleuk.com (2 pages)
  
• Promotion for Elle Club and subscription offer (2 pages)
  
• List of staff and magazine credits (1 page)
  
• Elle Guestlist, listing brief introductions to the issue's guest contributors (2 pages)
  
• The Editor's Letter (1 page)
  

The remaining 47 pages were solid advertising, containing adverts for anti-ageing beauty products sprinkled among those for various luxury fashion brands (Gucci, Dior, Prada, Chanel), perfume and high-end jewellery (Tiffany & Co, De Beers, Tag Heuer) all advertised by youthful high-fashion models, other than a few celebrity endorsements (Scarlett Johansson, Monica Bellucci, Maria Sharapova), draped seductively with or over the products they were flogging, posing femininely, alluringly, vulnerably, as both the showcase for the objects of desire and as objects of desire themselves. Photographs selling items such as lipstick, handbags, champagne and sunglasses, but seemingly purporting to be selling confidence, sexuality, power, beauty and excitement.

I flicked through these, announcing to Samson every few seconds, "Oh look, another advert!" as I did, wondering how thin the magazine would actually be if all the adverts were taken out and it was just articles. It was page 59 before I arrived at the first article, by which time the commercial overkill had removed what little desire I had to read in the first place.

After leafing through 57 pages of brand publicity that I had paid to look at, all of which seemed to show quite clearly that women were objects of beauty and desire, that youth was both attractive and important and that surrounding, covering and clothing yourself with pricey items gave you some sort of worth, the first bit of journalism was a 2-page opinion piece, an article entitled 'Should Women Be Acting More Like Men?' Apparently, no irony intended.

That magazine left my hands and hit the floor faster than you can say "bullshit".