Hey, girl. I don’t know if anyone told you this, but magazines are dying. In ten years’ time, probably only the Vogues of this world will continue to exist (and even then only as super-glossy quarterly objets d’art in pictures of rich people’s houses on hipstagram), while the Glamours and the Grazias of this world will be consigned to the dustbins of history, where they will languish alongside such other passing fads as hair mascara, trouserskirts, and fucking bubble tea. Whether or not you find the news of Grazia’s eventual demise a downer depends on whether or not you enjoy being told you’re fat on a
c.) hardly ever
Personally, I’m a c.
Which is why I love the internet’s smorgas(m)board of girl-friendly content, natch. As far as I’m concerned, Grazia could fold tomorrow and my life, which is already looking pretty damn skippy thanks to the existence of Rookie mag, would be all the richer for it (although tbh I could do without all the catarrh this cold is throwing at me right now). The only reason I buy Grazia AT ALL is so that I can relentlessly mock it on the internet, and even its timely demise meant having to go back to my old job working for my psychopath Sloane of an ex-boss, I’d still take no Grazia over the Vagenda existing. Every time. Because Grazia is BAD FOR WOMEN.
Seriouzly, babes. Stop buying Grazia and make me obsolete. Do it.
Here are ten reasons not to buy Grazia:
1.) You already know what to wear
SRSLY. You may not think you do, but you do. Chances are that you’ve developed your own personal style by now, so this week’s Grazia telling you to wear ‘dalmatian print loafers’ is just going to wash over you, kind of like bukake. OK, so it’s mildly unpleasant having stuff you don’t need spaffed in the direction of your face, but within minutes, you’ve had a shower and moved on. It’s the nature of capitalism. You can’t buy everything.
One of the amazing things magazines manage to con you into thinking is that they are staffed by impossibly stylish, elegant women who are a different species to your lumbering, plebeian, unfashionable self. Yeah, OK, so they get mid-cycle discharge like the rest of us, but somehow it always smells of Aqua di Parma. You imagine that these women wipe their arses with silk Hermes scarves and somehow just know how to combine a grey marl tee with the perfect pair of cigarette pants, like some kind of fucking fashion oracle wizard person. Here’s a secret: they don’t. They are as confused and messed up as the rest of us. And when they are featuring the ’10 hottest fashion items’ or whatever, it’s not because their amazingly developed psychic lady-skills told them that retro ski jumpers were in this week, but because they owed the PR a favour. Plus, if you really need help putting clothes together into different combinations, Vogue or Lookbook.nu are way better.
2.) The ‘Grazia news prism’
Put current events through the Grazia news prism and meaningless, rainbow coloured tidbits of fart gas emerge. Hence the story of Obama’s re-election suddenly develops a fluffy new angle involving a T-shirt worn by Sarah Jessica Parker and something tweeted by Beyonce. Despite purporting to provide a blend of ‘serious’ reporting, celebrity conjecture, and total fucking mindless whimsy, Grazia tends to view the former of these categories through a magical kaleidoscope, giving even the most characterless of news stories an element of fangirlish SQUEE. You know how sometimes you’ll be reading a Mail Online (busted) article about angina and there’ll be a totally random reference to Katie Holmes in the middle of it? It’s called search engine optimisation, bitches. Well, that’s what Grazia do, except for no reason other than that they think Brad Pitt designing a bath that’s shaped like a bum adds a bit of pizzaz to their publication. You may think you’re fine now, but sooner or later you’re going to be at a dinner party where everyone is discussing Syria and you’re going to pipe up with something about Harry Styles’ nappy rash. There’s nothing WRONG with caring about celebrity gossip (except that it’s totally lame, obv.) but there are whole websites shamelessly dedicated to this stuff (Perez Hilton) that don’t even need to pretend to have any news angle other than ‘OMG HAIRCUT.’ Use them!
3.) You’re possibly insecure enough already
Scientists have proven that not reading women’s magazines makes you 99.9% less bummed out about your looks. OK, so I made that up, but just try it, even for a week. It’s like waking up inside a candy-floss cloud of zen. Suddenly, because you’re not having to read strange sadistic articles such as ‘WE GO THROUGH HELL TO GET OUR ANGEL BODIES’ you’re all *shrug* ‘Whatever. Might have a biscuit.’ There’s something about not having to read about Miranda Kerr’s twice-daily three hour workout in the run-up to the Victoria’s Secret ‘Fashion Show’ that really restores a gal’s inner peace. This latest article, in which observations about how the models scream in pain are coupled with breathless commentary of their ‘washboard stomachs’ and ‘faultless bottoms’, is a prime example of the kind of beauty-worship that goes on in this rag on a weekly basis. Incidentally, does the phrase ‘faultless bottom’ make anyone else feel a bit…queasy?
4.) It’s like, way immature
This week their leading story is, I kid you not: DOES KATIE’S CO-STAR HAVE A CRUSH ON HER? You’d think it was written by tweenagers high on the e-numbers from their raspberry swirl lipbalm. Remember how at school the mean girls would come up to you and be like, ‘Are you a VIRGIN?’ and you wouldn’t know what it was because you were like, six, and would think it was something bad so would be all ‘Ew, NO!’ then they’d all laugh and point and run off to tell the whole school that you were some kind of playground slut? Well, those bitches have got nothing on the childishness of Grazia. They might as well have written ‘smelly farty poo bum’ in huge letters across the front in their own excrement. Later on in this week’s issue they have one of those shite observational ‘you know you’re an adult when…’ articles, and to my surprise not one of the ‘laugh-out-loud’ spot-on pontifications about modern adulthood includes “…you stop using phrases like ‘OOOOH…BAGS AND SHOES!’ and ‘over the knee boots are totes on trend.’ No, it’s just your usual mundane shit about emoticons. In which case: (>_<)
5.) They don’t have your best interests at heart
They want you to wear this hat. THIS HAT.
6.) They want to ruin Jennifer Anniston’s life
Grazia have it out for Jen big time. If we were all 15 and lived in the village where I grew up, then Grazia would be waiting outside the local Spar for Jen to pop in to buy some sugar for her mam, before pouncing on her with a lighter and a can of impulse. Wherever she went, from the bus stop to bargain booze, Grazia would be waiting in order to put gum in her hair and call her a loser. Having unfortunately exhausted ‘tragic spinster’ storylines, the Grazis have now turned their attention to destroying Jennifer’s upcoming wedding to Justin Theroux through wanton speculation and chinese whispers. Even when Jen is a happily married woman, I predict that they will continue to torment her until she ends up ‘doing a Britney’ and the world-famous ‘Rachel’ is no more. As a result, women worldwide will have to rely on archive footage in order to get their layers cut in, and Angie WILL FINALLY HAVE WON. Is that what you really want? IS IT?
7.) They’re trying to bankrupt you
This week, the beauty pages feature a £120 ‘Perfection Youth Cream’ that apparently contains something called ‘Extra Marine Filler’ (sewage?) for the simple reason that the journalist in question will have been given it for free by the company’s PR. ‘Get slathering, girls’, she says. It might be two weeks’ worth of Jobseeker’s allowance (and even then you’re six quid short if you’re on the under-25 rate) but if you say so, Grazis. Further along, we have a £70 conditioner suggested as the only way to solve your ‘addiction to backcombing’ (an addiction Grazia probably gave you in the first place by telling you big hair was ‘totes hot’), but even that looks eminently sensible compared to the magazine’s travel pages, which suggest that an antidote to tough times financially might be to hire a castle at the cost of £390 per person PER NIGHT. Er, fuck right off.
8.) Anything they can do can be done better
To get all capitalistic for a moment, let’s think about what Grazia’s unique selling point is. It’s clear from their latest ad campaign (‘have you got your Grazia?) that they consider themselves a ‘must have’ accessory for mindless drones struggling to keep up with the crowd, but there isn’t a single thing that this magazine does that isn’t done better elsewhere. Slightly creepy hagiography of celebrity toddlers? Check out Mail Online. Fashion spreads? Vogue will always be queen. News? A newspaper, or the BBC website. Tedious confessional journalism about ‘women’s issues’? Just about anywhere.
9.) They have no edge to them
Everything’s so bloody middle class and respectable, which is why you end up with sentences like ‘friends round midweek is possible- you just have to keep things non-stressy in the kitchen.’ Meanwhile, working class lasses get Take a Break insania such as ‘My Psychic Dog Has Healing Powers’ and ‘I Fucked a Milkman and My Cunt Caught Fire’ (OK, so that was Viz but you know what I’m taking about). Given the choice between keeping things ‘non-stressy’ in the Kitchen and reading an article entitled ‘SCARED OF MY OWN VAGINA‘, I know which one I’d choose, every single time. Plus, £1 cheaper.
10.) Voting with your feet is massively effective
Sorry to get all serious and earnest on your ass, but as long as we’re providing the demand, then Grazia will continue the supply. Not buying these magazines is one way of making sure that our daughters grow up in a world where ‘OMG SHOES…WANT’ is not their dominant thought process, where they’re not made to feel shitty about their pear-shaped or apple-shaped or butternut-fucking-squash shaped bodies, and where they’re treated as interesting people with something to say and ideas to contribute, rather than airheads with shopping (and backcombing) addictions. Did you know that HALF of girls aged 3-6 in Britain have worried about being fat? Yeah. That’s not a world we want to live in, and we’re not going to stop saying it until something changes.
Until next week. Laterz, Grazis.