Women’s magazines


I don’t read them often enough.
For example, on the rare occasions, when I fly from one continent to another. Always and without exception a very nice stewardess comes with an arm full of coloured magazines and offers them to me.

And because it’s impossible to see what she is holding in her hand, she begins to recite them. It is strange that only when she is standing in front of me does she recite only the women’s magazines. Is this outdated gender roles or many years of experience? Mostly I take a business magazine and a women’s magazine. With a 12 hour flight, there is enough time. At least as long as there is no internet connection on the flights.

Women’s magazines fulfil for me a wonderful purpose: after leafing through them and reading a little I feel better. Why? The illustrious men and women have problems. And what problems! Someone has to get rid of a villa in Malibu, a divorce is nigh, in Klosters the prince has broken his leg skiing.

There is nobody, who goes through life with never ending ease and without any worries. At least I don’t really know anyone who does. And therefore one’s own problems seem to be minor in comparison with the dramas and tragedies on the illustrious world stage.

That the majority of the women in this illustrious world have a figure, such as I didn’t have even when I was 20, doesn’t bother me and I can admire the pictures of their evening gowns, because they really look good. To buy something like them would NEVER enter my head, because what looks fabulous on model figures, would on me have created a terrible effect. I am not stupid and don’t have to emphasise my weak points.

The advice that I’m offered in the women’s magazines also doesn’t grab me. Once I tried one out. I was 17 years old and read in a magazine how to avoid a double chin. I didn’t have a double chin, not a trace of one, but I thought it is always better to take precautions. According to the magazine one should take a piece of material and rub it gently backwards and forwards under the chin. I took my bedsheet and rubbed very intensively. The result was more than amazing. I had certainly put the double chin to flight, because up to this day I don’t have one, but the skin on my neck looked as if it was burnt, fiery red. Even the polo neck couldn’t hide it and I had little desire to talk about my stupidity. My classmates ascribed it to a fiery lovelife, which was still a better explanation than one’s own stupidity.

Therefore the women’s magazines are a source of joy. But as unfortunately I have litte time and this joy is somewhat one-dimensional, it remains only with those meetings with them, where they are on free display and I have unlimited time. Never in my life have I bought a women’s magazine. They are not really worth the money.

Image source: Rainer Sturm / pixelio.de

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