Me and the very wonderful Sarah Scribble (@sarahs_scribble). Go read her blog!) got into a serious twitter thing recently about our every watchful overlords the glossy magazine. I read a lot of them but in the words of the greatest song smith of all time, Morrissey, “it says nothing to me about my life.”
I just want to find a happy medium. I tend to find that glossy magazines are so far into the extreme one way or another I can’t find one that fits my groove. I don’t buy designer clothes, but nor will I wear some strange knobbly woolly jumper with a wolf on the front I found for a pound in a knackered old hippy shop. Yes, my legs do look like a footballers from time to time when I can’t be bothered to go to the shop and pick up a packet of Wilkinson Swords but nor do I leave my body hair as some kind of statement. I love hot men, believe me, but I don’t want some pre-pubescent boy with a six pack. I love music but I won’t go to some achingly trendy bar in Hoxton to hear some kid called Sammy Q play his tune on a cheese grater with a shoe. Speaking of shoes, I love them, but I think you know where you can shove your six inch spiked stiletto. I walk to work dammit; I’m not wearing those torture devices.
I wanted to know if me and Sarah were alone in our vision. There must be other ladies out there who know how we feel. So we thought, lets find out. Here is a summary of me, and some of the content I wish a magazine could give me.
- I don’t use fake tan. Never will either. It isn’t sexy or clever to be the colour of an Oompa Loompa, old leather suitcase or look like you’re trying to change your ethnicity.
- I do buy clothes from charity shops but because I’m tight, not because I want to look like a hipster.
- I don’t wear high heels. Ever. Ever. Tell me where I can buy trainers that don’t break and 14 hole Doc’s without needing to remortgage my house.
- Yes, I am overweight. No, I don’t care. I don’t want belly skimming sleeveless tops; I want you to tell me what can make a 5 foot 6 rounded girl like me with bangers you could lose a puppy in look nice.
- No, I don’t want to know where I can get my hair straightened for £500 a session. I want you to tell me what hair dye doesn’t stink to high heaven and will actually make my hair look nice.
- No, I don’t want diet and exercise tips. I walk everywhere and that’s enough for me ta. Tell me how to make a decent meal from the can of baked beans and half a block of rancid cheese in the cupboard.
- No, I don’t want to know what bikinis I can buy. Do I look like I ever wear a bikini?
- I have scars. Stretch marks. Thread veins. Problems with body hair and facial hair. Mental eyebrows. Stained teeth. Don’t treat me like a perfect doll; tell me how to make these things better.
- No, I don’t want to spend £1,000 on a single armchair. I don’t run my own PR Company, I earn a low wage and I want to know how to make my home mildly less vile for a reasonable amount.
- DIY Pages are a great idea! Arts and crafts and how to do things around the home. Make me a self sufficient woman who doesn’t phone her Dad when a fuse blows.
- Yes, I wear make up. Yes, I love it. But tell me about High Street brands. I’m not made of money!
- Easy on the nail polish kids. It’s cool but err….calm down.
- More cake recipes. All the time.
- Stop making me jealous with pictures of perfect people having a perfect time. Me and my friends sit at a table or on the sofa, chatting about nothing. Give us quizzes to play, topics to discuss. Our lives aren’t one perpetual summer.
- I don’t like babies and that’s fine. Don’t ostracise me. I’m hardly the first woman to feel that way. Show me I’m not alone because I know it to be true.
- When I’m at home, I make slobs look active. I’m not the only one, am I?
- I do burp. And fart. And get tummy upsets. And pick my teeth with my fingernails after meals. And pick my nose when I’m alone. I’m not a ladette but nor do I eat cucumber sandwiches. There must be women like me.
- Women who are doing exceptionally well are amazing, please don’t get me wrong. But what about people like me? Middle of the road, just getting on. Can’t I hear more about them?
- Music is the food of love so give me more of that. No, not flipping Rihanna or One Direction.
- Practical advice for the permanently befuddled please. What is a hedge fund? Mortgage advice, and so on.
I really don’t want to believe I’m alone in how I feel. I’m not a super girly girl- I don’t have my eyebrows threaded or drink wine, but nor I am a raving weirdo who lives in a wigwam. I’m a normal, average, middle of the road person. I don’t want the extremes- I don’t want a magazine aimed at women I have nothing in common with. I don’t want to read music magazines that intimidate me with bands so cool they’ve not even formed yet, nor do I want a fluffy pile of nonsense about whatever drivel is being played on the radio this week. I want to know what novels I should read, and why. They actually do write novels besides ones about lost loves that make you cry- tell me about them. I want to know about kooky little shops. I want to know about other people’s dreams, and hopes, and fears. I want women everywhere to celebrate difference, not fall into line because some overpaid upper class pinch faced permatanned woman told them who they should wear. I want women to have a voice they can be honest with- I want somewhere women can say about their tummy fat, wobbly thighs, that one boob is bigger than the other and once they found a four inch nipple hair, how they shaved off their eyebrows because they were bored, how they farted on their boyfriend once and it was so bad he left the room. I don’t want to patronised into thinking I’m a freak, nor do I want to pick up a magazine and think I’m really too normal to be the target readership.
Am I alone? Speak to me ladies, tell me how you feel. Feel free to tweet me @Specbubble.
