Women’s mags are waste of trees if ever there was one…
This article last week by Tanya Gold made me laugh my ass off.
I have a huge loathing and hatred of women’s magazines. Fashion mags I read very occasionally before hurling them across the room, but women’s magazines, hardly ever.
From time to time one drops by my way in English – circulated round the ex-pat neighbourhood by our coterie of friends, very well-thumbed by the time it gets to me. One woman who lived here had a fondness for gossip mags, but frankly they leave me cold. Who ARE these people? Cheryl Cole? Jordan? Katie? (Katie who???). There is little point in reading gossip in the first place and no point at all in reading gossip about strangers.
Still, if Tanya’s piece is anything to go by, I am clearly not missing much. "Tatler doesn’t really give advice. That is not the point of Tatler. The point of Tatler is to float above you, taunting you with your disgusting plebbiness…" Well yup, it always was. I once knew someone who worked for Tatler and a more pointless, coked-up self-obsessed tart you could scarcely have hoped to meet. You know who you are, Nathalie…
In the ten years since I stopped reading them, not much appears to have changed. Cosmo, as ever, is obsessed with sex, Prima with housekeeping and Glamour with psychics. Gawd help us. Gold concludes that there are three kinds of magazines: "The ones that say you are ugly. The ones that say you are stupid. And the ones that say both."
Couldn’t agree more.