I spent all morning cruising the internet for publishing jobs, newspaper opportunities, and magazine internships. I was so excited to really sink my teeth into writing, and specifically I decided I was going to apply (when I’m back in the US) for any and all openings at Cosmo, Marie Claire, Glamour, what have you.
But just now I was reading Marie Claire, and all I could think was how I couldn’t afford the beautiful clothes in the pages, and how sickening it is that one article of clothing can even cost that much in the first place. And of course, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about how I’d never fit into them anyway. Worse, when I tried to talk to my boyfriend about it, when I thought I was opening up about how sick my mind is, how I used to (and sometimes still do) wish I could be anorexic instead of fat, I realized he wasn’t listening. And he doesn’t see how it’s hurtful, because he doesn’t understand that I was talking about something so important. Because he wasn’t listening.
I guess that’s a different topic though. The real point is, now I’m wondering if I really want to work for these people. Not necessarily because the message they send is toxic (although I’m pretty sure it is, not that I don’t waste all my money devouring these magazines anyway), but more because I’m concerned that the environment would be particularly toxic to me. I have a feeling I might hate myself even more if I were surrounded by this stuff in the flesh.
I think I’m going to try to stop buying fashion magazines. Which is sad, because I love them. But I also love kiwis, and I don’t eat them because they make my lips swell up in a very un-sexy way. So I’ll go about my life with fashion mags the way I do with kiwis: I’ll avoid them on the whole, and when I just have to have one I’ll buy it and consume it, knowing full well that I will pay the horrible, painful price.
I just have to hope it’s worth it.
But just now I was reading Marie Claire, and all I could think was how I couldn’t afford the beautiful clothes in the pages, and how sickening it is that one article of clothing can even cost that much in the first place. And of course, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about how I’d never fit into them anyway. Worse, when I tried to talk to my boyfriend about it, when I thought I was opening up about how sick my mind is, how I used to (and sometimes still do) wish I could be anorexic instead of fat, I realized he wasn’t listening. And he doesn’t see how it’s hurtful, because he doesn’t understand that I was talking about something so important. Because he wasn’t listening.
I guess that’s a different topic though. The real point is, now I’m wondering if I really want to work for these people. Not necessarily because the message they send is toxic (although I’m pretty sure it is, not that I don’t waste all my money devouring these magazines anyway), but more because I’m concerned that the environment would be particularly toxic to me. I have a feeling I might hate myself even more if I were surrounded by this stuff in the flesh.
I think I’m going to try to stop buying fashion magazines. Which is sad, because I love them. But I also love kiwis, and I don’t eat them because they make my lips swell up in a very un-sexy way. So I’ll go about my life with fashion mags the way I do with kiwis: I’ll avoid them on the whole, and when I just have to have one I’ll buy it and consume it, knowing full well that I will pay the horrible, painful price.
I just have to hope it’s worth it.
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