In an attempt to explain what I was doing Friday morning standing hungover and blurry-eyed in my bedroom and wearing only a boot, skinny jeans, and a gravity-defying pushup bra, I have to admit I recently had the worst idea of my life. In the name of science I decided to do everything Cosmopolitan, the magazine for fun, fearless females, suggested for a week. I made it three days.
The first day, I thought Cosmo hated women. The second day, I wondered if Cosmo hated men more. By day three, I came to a horrifying realization. Cosmo hates everyone.
If you’ve read Cosmo, you know its advice can be crazier than it is empowering. Asking a biker about his tattoo sounds like a fun way to get shanked. Slipping into fishnets while eyeing someone suggestively seems a little forward when you’ve just met.
With its sensationalist headlines, Cosmo makes it hard to look away in the same way you’d look if a truck full of heels careened through an adult store. There would be fashion and sex everywhere. It fills a void for some people. Girls know it’s a silly read, but deep down we all want to be fun and fearless.
I had to set up some guidelines before I began, since the bulk of Cosmo is dedicated to sexy things to do with your man. I’m decidedly single, so I ignored most of the cringe-inducing tips but there was a lot of insipidity left to wade through.
I started my foray into fun fearlessness Wednesday morning, when I woke up two hours early to do my hair. Then there was the flat, sexy abs workout, the sunset-hued eyeshadow application, and outfit-selection time.
Black is out, if you hadn’t heard, which rendered everything I own unwearable. Stripes are in, as are eye-catching necklaces– a ploy to get men to pay attention to your cleavage. I wasn’t aware we needed to trick them into that.
I was exhausted before I even went to work. This particular issue of Cosmo told me I should get 10 hours of sleep, and real Cosmo Girls work full time. Two hours of prep, eight at work and 10 for sleep, leave four remaining hours. A Cosmo Girl with a boyfriend would presumably dedicate them to sex. This Cosmo Girl wanted to eat things not described as aphrodisiacs.
Day two, I couldn’t wake up early enough to get flat, sexy abs. I failed to achieve beachy hair and ended up in an outfit so unlike me, my friends didn’t recognize me. Thursday was dedicated to attracting men using positive thinking and eyelash fluttering. Cosmo doesn’t see men as human beings so much as easily-manipulated primal urges. A properly accessorized Cosmo Girl matches her earth-toned boyfriend to her snakeskin purse.
Friday was the last straw. I’d gone out Thursday to drink a cosmopolitan. It was pink, things were floating in it, and I probably shouldn’t have mixed drinks. I woke up hungover and angry. My room was a hazmat zone, since I’d tried and rejected every article of clothing I owned. I shoved my feet into some heels, put on a low-cut shirt, and stumbled outside.
That’s when I realized I didn’t want to be a Cosmo Girl. I’m happier wearing Converses, old jeans, and a ponytail. I’m happier getting some sleep and talking to men without relying on feminine wiles. I’m happier listening to Joan Jett than steamy playlists. Cosmo Girls may be getting some daily, nightly, and ever so rightly, but at least the magazines I read actually like me.
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Ssummar@mavs.coloradomesa.edu