Absolute Poison

It had been a while since… a while since I had indulged in reading- no wait, in looking at fashion magazines. It all started at Harris Teeter in Charlotte. I had run out of books and had memorized every add in the Creative Loafing, even the Back Page Adds. And there she was! I saw a People magazine with a huge picture of Angelina on the cover and I had to pay the ridiculous fee for the magazine just so I could look at it closer and see what it is that makes her so beautiful; as if I could gleam the formula off of an airbrushed, lifeless page of the secret of beauty itself. So I bought the magazine, stared at the picture for a while, leafed thru the rest of it- the whole while feeling slightly dirty, except when I was looking at the Angelina pictures- and no secrets were revealed- no alephs came in to sight. Maybe I didn’t stare long enough.

And then the real problem started, the poison was literally free and being offered in bulk and pristine condition. It begged to be taken home. Some neighbor at the condos had graciously left piles and piles of fashion magazines neatly laid out on an old desk by the corner. All I wanted was my mail so I could pay bills within a decent timeline. But the magazines kept taunting me and finally I gave in- I took about 10+ magazines: MarieClaire, Vogue, Style, Cosmopolitan and a bunch of others I can’t remember the name of. And page after page it was the same shit over and over.

“Isn’t this perfectly airbrushed celebrity awesome? Well isn’t she?” yelled the crackling pages as I kept turning them and turning them. And the next page: “Well don’t you want to do something about the wreck that is your face, and let’s not mention that thing you call your body. I mean really isn’t it time you did something about it? For goodness sake you should be shamed to be seen with that sorry excuse of your whole physical thing you insist on lugging around -torturing all those that must look at you while you’re out there!”

And more poison still: “You want to fix it right? Smart girl! Buy this cream, shave here, tweeze there, pluck your nose hairs, sew this in, put plastic there and there, zoom this, tighten that, mud-masque those, pedi that, color these, cut all those, blip the other…..bleach Where?!?” And on and on it goes. Wanna look pretty and yet powerful? “Women of the world unite.” Meaning, “buy this bullshit diamond ‘cause it’ll mean that you are your own woman, ‘cause you’ll make your own decisions.”

“You want to be hot, right? Buy this skirt, and then this brand, those jeans and then that shirt, and of course that belt and don’t forget the ‘It’ bag. And don’t dare be caught without those torturing contraptions we call shoes.”

I had stopped looking at fashion magazines a long time ago even at waiting places opting for a book or just staring into space- which is safer than looking at these pictures that have such a hold and influence on so many people, even me, the great resistor.

Magazines, or should we say marketing is such a powerful tool it manages- thru billions of dollars in hammering away the frail shell of self-esteem, self-respect, self-regard- to dictate living choices for people in a sadly enslaving, dulling way.

And the writers, sorry, contributors for the magazines? While tongue in cheek at times, way too serious at most- with one stating that she doesn’t care how painful, uncomfortable and unhealthy dehairing herself might become; she is completely taken by the illusion that the least-haired of the women are the fairest of them all. That with less hair there is on a woman’s body; the more attractive, powerful, cosmopolitan and in control she’ll be- or something like that. To whom I wonder though? I’ve always wanted to believe that there are better people out there- the ones who are not utterly consumed with counting visible body hairs, wrinkles, gray hairs and all the such that goes with “undesirable.”

I know- there are other poisons we all subscribe to, but still those other poisons aren’t constantly eroding the person you really ought to be. Sure, one poison might be scarring your liver, shrinking it to the size of a wilted lemon, but it brings some benefits while you’re at it, good friends, good times and a good roll in the hay sometimes. If you live in the country. With sheep. And cows. And maybe horses. And a barn where you might indeed need a lot of hay.