I wandered into my local newsagents a few days ago with Friend to pick up the latest installment of my monthly Bible – Elle. As I leapt on it eagerly, skimming through pages before having even purchased, Friend clucked her tongue disparagingly and commented on the amount of fashion magazines – Elle, Vogue, Grazia, Cosmopolitan; I could go on. While unwillingly agreeing with her, I felt the need to defend my beloved obsession, and so I did what any other self respecting offended person would do; I sought a scapegoat. This was discovered in the form of celeb mags.
Now, I can’t judge, because I have to admit, when I’m bored and there’s a gossip magazine lying around – particularly in the canteen at work – I will read them. Other people’s lives are invariably so much more interesting. But it did startle me just a little as to how many of them there were; I counted over ten altogether, and the majority of them had several of the same stories. ‘Celebs Exposed!’ glared at me from the front of one cover, followed by, ‘Jennifer Aniston without the slap! Look at the bags, look at the wrinkles!’ I did pause for a moment to feel sorry for poor Jennifer Aniston, who in my opinion is a total babe for a woman in her forties, but then I figured she probably has better things to do with her time than read this junk. ‘The Story behind Angie’s big lips!’ yelled at me from another mag, practically begging me to read the ‘Four page Spread!’ So that would be a page per half a lip?
The ones I find particularly amusing are the ones that are evidently one hundred and ten percent true because of all the sources, who must know what they are talking about because they are clearly SUCH good friends of the celebrity in question. That’s right, ‘source close to Cheryl Cole’; I’m sure bezzie mate Chezza doesn’t mind at all that you’re telling the world about her and Ashley’s sex life (although to be honest, I reckon Cheryl’s secretly telling us herself anyway – ‘weak, limp lifeless’ anyone?)
I recall reading a while ago (in one of these magazines, actually – oh the irony) about a girl in her twenties running herself into thousands of pounds of debt so she could live the celebrity lifestyle. She wore only designer labels, dressed her six month old baby in thousand pound outfits (kid’s first word will probably be ‘Dior’), and splashed out on huge houses and holidays. How did she afford all this? Well ... she didn’t. She used multiple credit cards, bad cheques, and when the law finally caught up with her – several years later, I would like to point out – she was completely bankrupt. Her reasoning? “I wanted to live like Jordan, you know?” I know honey. I want big fake boobs too.