Walking into my 3rd floor apartment this afternoon, I almost ralphed as my eyes were drawn to the 14 Cosmopolitan magazines flaunted across my coffee table. Month after month, without fail my roommate or I dish out the $4.29 for this 220-page packet of chick. I mean, God forbid we have a subscription to this trash. Really, it is much less humiliating to continuously purchase each edition at one of the 20ish CVS locations in the loop, rather than having it delivered to our front door. Doubtful.
Each months issue is altered just enough from the one prior, to convince us that we can in no way live without it. The headlining celebrity alone, be it Kim Kardashian, Megan Fox, or Lindsay Lohan (circa April 2006), manipulates us to drool at the pure thought of reading its contents. I must say my favorite part is the bold sexual headline that graces each new cover. “The sex article we can’t describe here”, “100% Hotter Sex”, or my personal favorite, “What he’s thinking during sex.” When did we become such slores? Why do we feel the need to read through endless oral sex tips, embarrassing moments, and diets clues? It must be that we find our own lives inadequate to those of the featured beauties. Which is hard to believe considering what has occurred in the last handful of weekend’s… blackouts, plan
B, broken ribs, mysterious receipts…
That said, the newest issue of this women’s handbook, features a barley clad Lady Gaga. Its contents include the usual facts, figures, and tools to improve our femininity and sexual appeal. Thanks, but no thanks. I rather not take tips from Gaga on how to ‘attract’ men, let alone ‘dress for success.’ Remember she did just poison Tyrese with Beyonce’s ‘honey’ in her Telephone video, and wore what looked like a lace crawfish to the VMA’s. Trust me, I rather take dating advice from gold medal mother Dina Lohan.
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