‘Take your striptease to a lustier level and add a bit of fantasy to your taking-it-off routine. Embellish your attire with long, black gloves and a top hat, ^ la ‘Moulin Rouge.'”
Cosmo scares the crap out of me, not least because it’s mind is further in the gutter than I am. Maybe I’m imagining this, but once I read a sex column that recommended sticking your finger up your boyfriend’s, ahem, “nether orifice,” when he climaxed.
Worse, the damn magazine is half fashion ads, which are even scarier than sex advice columns. And it seems like the rest of the magazine is ads for cosmetic modifications available to aspiring models and the general public: wrinkle filling, lip enlargement, skin darkening, skin bleaching, forehead lift, eye lift, rhinoplasty (nose), cheek implants, cheek fat excision, lip lift, chin implants, facelift, liposuction, breast augmentation, breast lift, breast reduction, nipple/aerolar reduction, arm lift, tummy tuck, labioplasty (vagina), umbilicoplasty (belly button), buttock lift, buttock enlargement, buttock reduction, penile enlargement, penile reduction, calf implants, pectoral implants.
We live in a beauty-obsessed, super-sexed society. It scares me when I see 8-year-olds dressed like they’re looking to get picked up. When Britney Spears grinds her crotch and fake breasts against her male backup dancers on TRL, fourth graders across the country are tuned in. And these aspiring hoochies need to get their sex and fashion advice from somewhere, probably Cosmo or the still more frightening Cosmo Girl.
Meanwhile, the boys are freaking out because one of them found their Daddy’s old issues of Playboy. They’re so enthralled, they actually manage to stop hitting each other over the head with Tonka trucks for a few moments, at least until a fight starts over who is going to be kickball captain.
Playboy scares me too, but at least they don’t lie on a regular basis. Recently, the Columbia Journalism Review discussed a cocktail hour/industry panel attended by many senior writers and editors of women’s magazines. Elle editor Laurie Abraham voiced a complaint: Women’s magazines lie about sex too much. The attendees met this assertion with shrugs.
Fact checking isn’t a priority for the saucy sex stories. Often, interviews are fabricated. Veronica, the 26-year-old who likes to have sex at amusement parks, may not exist. Or she could be 50. Or a man. When interviews are actually conducted, interviewees might be asked to change their responses. Sometimes the editors alter the stories beyond recognition. My favorite tweak is at Cosmo, where ages of their subjects are lowered to appeal to their target mid-20s demographic. And then they sauce up the stories more than anyone else.
But what’s wrong with a little harmless sex? And who am I to argue with a publication that encourages its readers to dress up like vintage French prostitutes? Just don’t wear the top hat. Save that for the Honest Abe costume. I’ll dress up like Jefferson Davis and it will be so hot, baby, we’ll have to send a letter to Cosmo about it.
