The Aspirational Reading of Cosmopolitan

reading cosmopolitan

Here’s a confession I need to make: I read Cosmopolitan. And by read, I don’t mean browsing through the pictures in the dentist’s waiting room, and shaking my head with mild disapproval. No, I actually go out of my way to spend a precious 2 pounds (or 3.50, depending on the gift) on an issue of Cosmo every single month. Embarassing, I know. I usually buy it along with New Statesman, just to save my face in front of the pretty guys working at WH Smith.

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Overanalyzing: Cupcakes

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A cigarette is the perfect type of a perfect pleasure. It is exquisite, and it leaves one unsatisfied. What more can one want? (Oscar Wilde, 1890)

Oh well, Oscar. Back then, you were imprisoned for being a fag.* Now you’d be prosecuted for publicly smoking one. The perfectly unsatisfying pleasure of late postmodernity is a quaint little cupcake.

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Overanalyzing: Why Do Hipsters Take Pictures Of Their Food?

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Sometime around 2010, the first photo of a tofu cake (or was it a mango salad?) appeared on my Facebook feed. What was my reaction? I wish I remembered. Perhaps I smiled. Maybe I “liked” it. Or possibly I turned off my desktop PC (oh, the technology we used in ye olden days!) and headed to the kitchen. Most likely, I ignored it, not realizing that I was just witnessing the birth of a trend soon to sweep the world.

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Reclaiming Pink

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Pink (the colour) is a lot like Justin Bieber (the, ekhem, singer.)

Little girls love it. Slightly bigger girls hate it with a passion. Even bigger girls sometimes come back to “loving” it ironically. Boys of all ages avoid it like the plague. For inexplicable reasons, it is linked with homosexuality. Not in a good way, though. That’s for rainbow and Lady Gaga.

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