I Hate Cosmopolitan

I read women’s magazines. Feel free to call me a big gay faggy queero (or whatever insult pops into your two-cent anthracite fossil of a brain) but I’m not ashamed. If this was the nineties I guess I could be labelled “metrosexual” because I moisturise and drink fruit juice and take an interest in women’s things, but thankfully the world recovered from that whole Queer Eye For The Straight Guy thing when they were revealed as crab people and being a Metrosexual stopped being a thing, sort of like being a Hipster will when Zooey Deschanel returns to the planet Hot’n’Annoying. So yeah, I read GQ and Wired and Men’s Health, and i read Elle and Cosmopolitan too. I take an interest in everything*. Plus it’s been a slow couple of months while I look for work.

Ladies: I have news for you. Cosmopolitan is evil and depraved, and not just in a religious sense. Cosmopolitan is written by knee-jerk reactionist pamphleteers who act as a funnel for everything that’s insane about the world of women. Cosmopolitan is not written by women. It’s written by insane, lipstick-wearing octopodes from a Lovecraft novel. Cosmopolitan is not written for women. It is written as a symbol of womanhood, but instead of being a good symbol, it’s a symbol of insanity, a bit like the way Men’s Health is written by sexually-repressed closeted gym freaks, for sexually-repressed closeted gym freaks. It’s a justification of female insanity. It bears no relation to the real world, more or less constantly descending into self-parody. Here’s a handy cut-out-and-keep guide to how batshit-crazy Cosmo world is compared to the real world.

Cosmo World:  Men are an insoluble mystery, an eternal conundrum, a fleshy, pec-decorated Rubik’s Cube that requires constant disentanglement. Your Man is deep, constantly perturbed by existential angst and intelligent beyond measure. When a man goes quiet, he’s stressed by his responsibilities, his Deep Man Thoughts, and life.

Real World: Men think a lot about stuff. All sorts of stuff. Some of it is stuff like the national deficit or the Laws Of Thermodynamics, some of it is to do with boobs. If Your Man seems distant and perturbed, it’s not a bad sign. Men tend to think more than they talk. And you are likely to annoy him by constantly going “What’s wrong? What’s wrong?”. Ladies, in all fairness, you use silence as a weapon and a warning. Men use silence as the space in between conversations. We’re kooky like that.

Cosmo World: Every woman should be ashamed of themselves if they’re not following the latest diet. You’re fat. You’re fat! YOU’RE FAT! Cavewomen were thinner and healthier than you (although this was in Elle), you pig!

Real World: There is one diet and it was invented years ago. It’s called “eating less”. The more or less constant iterations of diets designed to carve pounds off of your frame are reformulations of this diet. I don’t care if it involves eating nothing but Kiwis or cabbage soup or chicken nuggets or whatever. There is no diet that will work as effectively as putting the fork down.

Also you are nowhere near as fat as you think, unless you’re the world’s fattest woman. And I bet even she has gentlemen callers.

Cosmo World: Your breasts are weird! Get liposuction/a boob job/ expensive reconstructive surgery.

Real World: Ladies, if your girlfriends make negative comments about your boobs (like during those naked tea-parties I imagine you have, hurr hurr), they are bitches. If you have low self-esteem about your boobs, you’re focusing too hard on one aspect of your body and need to get a goddamn grip on your priorities. Unless your breasts are green, radioactive and covered in oozing pustules, a guy is going to be glad to be around them. We love boobs. We looooooove boobs. Big, small, lopsided, whatever. We’re happier when there are boobs just in the room, ferchristssake. We don’t care if you have puffy nipples or that weird blue vein or whatever. Our standards are not that high, and that will not change. There is not a [straight] man alive who will say no to boobs, mainly because this is the way the world works:  men are not offered sex/boobs constantly. Women, on the other hand….

Cosmo World: Sex is difficult and scary and needs Mr-Miyagi-like training! Otherwise you’ll never please a man!

Real World: That link is one of my favourite things I’ve ever read because it illustrates Cosmo-levels of crazy. Now I understand that y’all have difficulty finding out what starts your engine. Hell, scientists can’t even agree if there’s a G-spot or not, and have been fighting over it for decades. So it stands to reason that you gotta take time to find out what works for you. This is one of the fundamentals of the sexually dimorphic differences between men and women. Women are complex sex machines with all sorts of buttons and off-ramps and stop-signs and shit, almost impossible to navigate correctly first time. You’re the Slough Ring Road. Men, when it comes to sex, are the M1. We have one button and it’s not hard to find because it sticks out at you. We do not need tips like, “To achieve sex-goddess status, you have to truly master his man bits” or “Fifty-six percent of unmarried men prefer receiving head while lying down as opposed to standing up, while the numbers are exactly reversed for married men”. YOU ARE OVERTHINKING IT. Let me put it in context: even if you know nothing about oral sex except that teeth should not be involved, even if you are so sexually inexperienced that you expect his penis to be pixellated like it is on TV, the worst oral sex you can give is better than the best birthday present you’ve ever had. You are not defusing a bomb here. If anything, the man’s just glad he isn’t spending yet another night alone looking for boobs on TV.

I think I’ve covered the main points. If there are any more let me know. In the meantime I’ll be reading Men’s Health and wondering how bored I’d have to be to care about lactic acid burn statistics.

I think I mentioned cave women somewhere up there so here’s Racquel Welch in One Million Years BC. Grrrowl!


*I also read Lakeland Limited catalogues, those brochures that come through the letterbox and AA road maps. My parents are very proud.

4 responses to “I Hate Cosmopolitan

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