Confessions of a Magazine Queen
I have spent, over the period of the last five years, an estimated $1500 on magazines.
I’d like to say I collect the Intellectual (Time or National Geographic); Glamorous (UK and French Vogue, Elle) or the Trendy (Oyster, Nylon) magazines…
It is safe to say the main culprits of my non-carbon-friendly trail are NW, OK! and Who.
I buy one every week, without fail.
Sometimes I forget and buy the same one twice. When you read as many crappy magazines as I do, its easily done.
Sometimes I find myself choosing between staple food items and the latest copy of Grazia (I have to point my new favourite offers a little more than the aforementioned).
With a potential career in journalism ahead, I feel the need to keep these guys in circulation – when the Global Financial Crisis (I promise to never use those words again) reaches depression level who will support these journos?
Albeit, It has gotten to the point where I have to avert my eyes from the glossy covers, or from the rack itself.
I was recently heading down Courtenay to grab a loaf of bread when WHAM!
Lo and behold, NW’s pink, black and white colour combo cunningly caught my gaze.
The words LOSE FAT FAST could surely be read from the other side of the street.This is criminal.
By the time I reached the door I had justified my purchase. It’s bikini season and surely it wouldn’t hurt to learn 6 more diets/exercises/the most flattering swimwear for my body type.
Unflattering photos of stars on the beach will work to bring up my frail self-esteem and seeing them all getting sloshed puts my liver in a happy place.
In any one of these magazines you can be assured of exclusive updates on Li.lo and Sam, J.Lo and Mark, Jen and John… off! On! Engaged! Pregnant! Divorced! Drugs! Money! Argh!
Brangelina’s new multi-cultural uber-rich commune: more babies?
Britney and Wino compete in addictions/personality types/backstabbing lovers/families at war/rehab/shock makeovers…
And poor Katie: how her beloved cult-leader munchkin lover has destroyed her Dawson Creek innocent good looks. At least she can hand over the reigns to new-kid-on-the-block, and ringleader of generation Z(illionsofdollars) Suri.
A December issue a certain gossip mag headlines: “Your Top 10 Hollywood’s Cutest Kids” and offers a show-all inside their nurseries, famous playdates and…wait for it… get their looks for less!
Fantastic, now I can match my dress sense to my maturity!
Plus, I’d hate to have Suri look me up and down in distaste.
If good looks and riches aren’t enough to get by on, it seems arranged marriages are like, totally cool now for the Western World too.
I’m terrified of rumours circulating that Nicole Kidman’s and Russell Crowe’s offspring are already courting.
Look out for a porcelain-skinned country singer/actor stumbling out of anger management therapy in gladiator sandals swigging a bottle of Bundaberg Rum.
Anyway, for now get ready for a catfight:
Paris has a new B.F.F.F.F.F.F.F.F.F