THBBM - Benzai-ten

Benzai-ten
letters from my life as a fifty year-old woman
5-3

I get my love for reading from my mother, who used to tuck me in to sleep by reading the Greek Myths, poems by Hans Christian Andersen, and stories by Rudyard Kipling.

She was always an avid reader, devouring anywhere from three to five books a week. Reading was her hobby and her escape. She would return from weekly trips to the library with the latest thrillers by Phillip Dick, Robert Parker, and Ed McBain. Our house was scattered with every possible size and shape of bookcase. The shelves with the best books were always in dissaray, paperbacks shoved in close to hardcovers, as things were constantly being borrowed and replaced.

I used to pick books from the shelves based on the cover art, picking the ones that had the best pictures on the outside. Fortunatley for me, my mother read anything she could get her hands on, leaving in her wake an extensive and varied library.

To her, there was little separation between the giants of the canon and the books you could buy in the checkout aisle at the supermarket, as long as you enjoyed reading them.

About the only reading materials that she treated with any sense of disdain were magazines. She bought them, subscribed to them, and borrowed them from friends, but magazines were only ever kept in one part of the house.

The Bathroom.

Magazines in our house were kept on a yellow footstool next to the crapper. It didn't matter what the magazine was, or how prestigious it's history -- they all found their way into the john, and they never escaped. Newsweeks were stacked on top of Nursing; National Geographic weighed down on top of Life, Redbook, People, Southern Living, Better Homes and Gardens, and the Smithsonian.

I don't know if she intended it or not, but all my life I sort of understood that magazines were second-rate writing; the kind of pulp that was only briefly entertaining and informative. From my point of view, magazines were created for one specific purpose:

They helped you crap.

So it's not very surprising that I began to adopt similar habits when I began to live on my own. Although the bathroom housed things more geared to my tastes, like Guitar Player, Sports Illustrated, and Penthouse, the same rules applied. Books were shelved with care, like trophies. Magazines were tossed in the loo, so that they were always close by if you needed the help.

But now it seems that there are less and less quality periodicals left in the world. With instant access over the web to any sort of information like celebrity gossip, sports scores, lowfat recipies, and pictures of naked people -- the act of going out and actually buying a magazine seems more and more unnecesary. As a result, magazines with smaller readerships sometimes find themselves being caught in the crunch.

Such was the case for one of my wife's favorite monthlies, Mirabella. Aimed at the professional woman in her late 20's and early 30's, the magazine angled itself towards classy fashion, highbrow literature, and inspiring profiles of famous women who were known more for their abilities than their figures.

Kim adored this magazine, reading it cover to cover whenever it arrived in the mailbox. When she was done with it, it headed to my bathroom, where I would peruse it occasionally for the articles that poked cynical stabs at other "fluffier" magazines. Despite not being a 20-something woman, I always found Mirabella to be an entertaining read.

But as sales fell under the weight of shifting ownership and a lack of mass appeal, the magazine couldn't keep up. Finally, it was shut down in April of 2000.

To put it lightly, Kim was pissed off.

What made matters worse was that the magazine folded right in the middle of her subscription. As a consolation, the publishers of the magazine began mailing issues of another publication to our house in place of Mirabella.

This new magazine is called More, and unlike it's predecessor, it's aimed at women who are age 50 and up. A huge difference.

Instead of thought-provoking articles like "The New Feminism," that were commonplace in Mirabella, More comes to our mailbox every month with headlines that read "Yes, You Can Still Have Sex!" and "The 50 Best Plastic Surgeons in America."

It's Cosmo for the generation that still takes their fashion cues from Jackie O.

How do I know this?

Kim refuses to read it, and so it ends up going straight to the restroom. At first I ignored it, looking only at the pictures and then throwing it away; but after a few issues I have to say I've really become fascinated with the thing.

The articles are all written from the point of view of someone who has survived the trials of life, but for some reason still wants to suffer. It's sort of a self-help guide for the paranoid. Makeup tips to hide your age. How to handle your second divorce, How to raise your adult children...

See, at least from where I'm sitting, it seems like Sassy, Seventeen and Cosmopolitan are magazines aimed at women who are intimidated by men. Inside these magazines are where you find articles like, "How to like yourself naked," "What to do if he won't commit," "How to keep a man if you hate his friends..."

More, on the other hand, is aimed at women who are scared to death by other women. And as such, it's hilarious.

Here's a letter to the editor that appeared in last month's issue:

While I enjoy your magazine, I am dissapointed by the fact that the models you use are so beautiful. Upon seeing a goregeous 19-year-old in a teen magazine, I smile and justify that she looks that great because she's just a baby -- but seeing someone my age looking like she just celebrated her 27th birthday is depressing. Please, show me a few jowls, sags, bags, and wrinkles so that we 48-year-old women can feel some sort of kinship. I thought I looked pretty good for my age until I got my first issue of More...

Kate Patterson - Tualatin, OR

Please use uglier models? Did I read that right?

Here's an article that warns women -- just because exposure to low voltage electricity can sometimes help improve the elasticity and vitality of your facial muscles, it could be very dangerous if applied to your breasts...

Make sure you get this right. Someone's mom is clipping on jumper cables, hoping to cheat off a few years of gravity... and for what?

I mean, have you seen 50 year old men lately?

I never, ever thought I would find a publication more terrified of the future than Men's Health, FHM, or Maxim. But More takes the cake.

This magazine approaches older women with the idea that they never really aged at all, it's just that there are a lot more young people around these days, and they all dress like whores.

Don't get me wrong here -- I'm not saying that all 50 year-old women should jump in the rocking chair, start doing crochet, and shut-up... but there is a difference between embracing the experiences and advantages in your life, and acting like you're competing with Britney Spears for lovers.

What a strange illusion it is to suppose that beauty is goodness.
	- Leo Tolstoy, The Kreutzer Sonata - 1889

Is it possible that part of being a woman in this society is reading a periodical that makes you feel horrible about how you look, no matter how old you are? Is it just me, or do the publishing houses want women to graduate from YM to Cosmo, Cosmo to Elle, and then from Elle to More? Just how many times can you read articles about swimsuits that make you appear thinner before you crack up?

Take a hint from the guys here. Look at your basic men's magazine, Maxim, for example. Inside you will find articles on how to tone your abs, have better sex, quit smoking, invest wisely in the markets, and dress fashionably on a budget. Guess which article we read first?

None of them.

I mean yeah -- we're fat, we're broke, we last two minutes in bed, we look like crap, and we could die at any minute. But we've seen Leslie Bibb in her underwear, and somehow that seems to make up for it all.

I guess my whole beef is that I know a 50 year old woman. She's not always happy with her weight, she wishes sometimes that she had fancier clothes, and traveled to exotic places. But when the worries get to her - my mom curls up in her living room with a good book, and goes on with her life.

and she leaves the magazines in the bathroom, with the rest of the crap.