MORE SODDING FASHION

This week we’re going a little bit off topic, thanks to a recent misguided purchase of mine. Recently, I decided to pick up a copy of Company magazine, mainly because it was £2 and came with a bottle of liquid eyeliner. I already have a crappy lipgloss and a tiny Clinque mascara acquired from similar publications, and I needed eyeliner, so sod it, I thought. Maybe the magazine will actually be entertaining.

Oh, how stupid I was! There’s a reason I don’t buy these magazines. Mostly it’s because my mum buys them first, so I read them when I’m at hers for a total of £0. But also, they drive me up the wall. When I speak of ‘women’s magazines’, I speak of Company, Cosmo, Glamour, all that lot. I don’t mean Take a Break and their ilk, because they are amazingly and gloriously demented. Besides, they’re all covered bywww.takeaweirdbreak.com.

No, I’m talking about those glossy, ad filled bricks that are full of designer clothes and utter tosh. Every now and then I pick one up thinking, ‘Oh that looks interesting’, then realise what a fool I’ve been yet again. When will I learn? They will ALWAYS offend me.

Look at the July issue of Company. It all starts with the Editor’s Letter. It’s called ‘The Men We Love’, and is full of gushing about all the hot men they’d had to examine in order to determine the Bachelor of the Year. Yes, that’s a thing. It’s full of statements like ‘Oh, isn’t our job so hard? Ho ho ho!’ that make me want to stab my own eyes out to avoid the horror.

A zillion cosmetic ads later, there’s the letters page. Apparently you don’t get printed anymore unless your letter reads something like, ‘I love [magazine name]! [Magazine name] is brilliant and I’m pretty sure it cured seven types of cancer!’ Gag. Also, the prize for star letter is £100 worth of makeup. Just give me the £100, yeah?

Cue a hundred pages of fashion I neither want nor can afford. I usually speed past by them so fast everyone in a 100 mile radius gets paper cuts.

Next, some vapid interview with some vapid celebrity bint. ‘So, just how brilliant are you?’

Then a jolly column by the magazine’s ‘Man on the inside’, who jocularly complains about his girlfriend nags him not to leave his used pants on the bedroom floor. Hilarious!

Now articles about women who started up businesses by themselves, and how you can too! Yeah, if you have a million pounds or a rich dad. Or both.

More ads later, that Bachelor of the Year thing. ‘Number 27 is loaded and just divorced! What a catch! You’ll let him cry on your shoulder for a Gucci handbag, right?’

Next up, MORE SODDING FASHION.

Some woman’s flat which looks amazing because someone’s just decorated it before the photographer’s shown up.

Some holiday thing that I never read.

Horoscopes. Oh, sod off.

Finally, a load of classifieds for boobs jobs. Prfffft.

I know these magazines are clearly not aimed at me, but they irritate the life out of me still. They cast their net for an audience as wide as they can, and so assume most women are clothes obsessed tarts, trampling all over each other in their stilettos for that promotion or eligible bloke. Don’t patronise me. It’s the same for guys too, I mean, look at publications like Nuts. Apparently all men are obsessed with boobs, football and drinking are they? Go away.

And finally, thinking about it... where were the problem pages?!?