Sunday, January 30, 2011

Things learned from binging on Self magazine

I just moved into a new apartment.  During the move process, I had to purge all of the old magazines I'd collected over the past few years.  I hung onto all of the Self magazines that I hadn't gotten around to reading.  I decided to read 6 in one sitting.  This is what I learned:

Self wants you to give up something, anything - month after month countless articles of suggestions and helpful tips on how to quit a behavior that has become part of your life.  They weren't tackling the hard hitting behaviors like crystal meth or shoplifting (I'm talking to you, Winona Ryder).  No, there was a lengthy piece about the dangers of every once and awhile going into Starbucks.  Apparently instead of getting sucked into the power of that seductive mermaid logo, you should breathe, think about your kids and walk away.  And then you will never again spend the afternoon self-flagellating because you spent $5 on a latte.

Models give shitty advice - Heidi Klum gave the advice that looking too thin makes you look bad as you get old.  I'm sorry, Heidi Klum, is this advice?  From a super model? When I look in the mirror and feel like a tub of chunky monkey I think the last person I want encouraging me that it's ok not to be stick thin is Heidi Klum.

Every issue will attempt to solve the "boredom in the bedroom" problem.  Why does a health and fitness magazine have article after article about sex?  Well, because it's apparently the only reason to be healthy and thin - to give you the adrenaline and confidence boost to fuck a loved one until the wee hours of the night.  And if you aren't having fun on the 19th hour of the fuckathon, you need serious serious help.  Self is there to pat you on the back and offer helpful tips like how you should smear boiled carrots on your boyfriend's chest.  It's organic and cruelty free!

Healthy girls worship at the alter of Jillian Michaels.  I live in a place where straight up loving a woman is embraced.  If you live in the middle of North Dakota, you can channel your lesbian energy into the pages and pages dedicated to the Self proclaimed goddess Jillian.  You can tell everyone you love her because she teaches you to be "healthy."  But I am not fooled.  I realize that Self is just your porn.

Living outside of SoCal sucks.  There are whole issues dedicated to fixing your cracked, bleeding winter skin, how to not get frost bite on your nipples while running outside, how to do yoga poses with snow men and ultimately how to make love to your frozen boyfriend (burns calories, people!).

Limit yourself to one glass of wine.  A week.   No, Self.  No!


  1. Things I learned about myself from my latest copy of GQ, for contrast:

    - my jeans aren't skinny enough
    - I don't dress enough like a hipster
    - I'm too fat to dress properly - sort of a continuation on a theme. Hard to wear skinny jeans when you have a 36" waist, but a 42" ass
    - I need new different work shoes. Wingtips, last month's trend, are out, captoes are in
    - I need a new watch. Tank watches, last month's trend, are out. All-black watches are in
    - layering is the answer to all my fashion issues, actual weather conditions be damned

    Summarizing - buy more shit. Eff the publishing industry as a whole.

  2. And here I thought I was the only one with a mild suspicion of Jillian Michaels: that woman is just plain weird. And every time I see SEX on those glossy mags at the grocery store, I come home and look at this image and laugh:


  3. Love it all, especially the critique of models' advice. My favorite is when they say they don't work out at all, but they fail to mention that they eat a pack of raisins a day.

    Gag me.