Unchain my reading material
 He's standing in front of me on line for Frontier flight 581 into Salt Lake City. "Oh my God! Can you believe this?" he exclaims to anyone within earshot. He's reading aloud some advice column in a so-called "women's" magazine. "How can I get him to be nice to my cat? Is it true that grapefruit and celery have negative calories? He keeps wearing my underwear, should I worry? Is it too soon for broadcloth?" These and other pressing issues he ticks off in theatrical, flabbergasted condescension. His fascination is obvious to everyone else. I suspect he will become engrossed in someone's bikini wax disaster the moment he sits down. A woman standing near him shoots me a miserable glance. His wife. Her magazine, probably. Two teen-age boys stand between them. She's been taking this vicarious heckling for quite a while now. I wonder if he has to crush her constantly to feel superior. I have a habit of assuming guys like him are trying make up for something they lack in their pants. I think a short invocation that his wife will rediscover her value and beauty in a wildly explosive lesbian experience that leads to a best selling memoir. The truth is, the guy touched a nerve. He could have been reading out of any one of a hundred "women's" publications stocked by every magazine dealer, book seller, airport vender and street corner newsstand. If magazines are any indication, 51 percent of the people in this country are anemic and malnourished yet paranoid about being fat, sexually and emotionally obsessed with men, and focused on wearing something that reflects all of these bizarre characteristics. Perhaps I'm oversensitive. Perhaps it's that time of the month. Perhaps if I take a couple of dozen Midol and go peruse the two dozen newsstands within a mile of my apartment, I won't care that my entire gender is reduced to boobs and lips in the print media. I have nothing against boobs and lips per se. I think they're great, but I'd like a little more selection when it comes to reading material, like Forbes or Fortune or Motortrend, only aimed at me, and with a woman's name at the top of the masthead. Even the more glandular women's magazines are often controlled by men. It shows, especially when they simply ape a men's magazine. This is one reason Playgirl is not the Playboy of the X-gender. Playboy's hefty interviews notwithstanding, prurient interest is the name of the game, and women, by nature tend to refrain from spreading a Playgirl on the floor in front of the toilet while they otherwise busy their hands. There have been a few excellent women's magazines, including Lear's, that actually addressed women like intelligent, reasoning adults. These are few and far between, and almost impossible to find. I challenge anyone to find a Ms. magazine in a New York newsstand. The publishing world still belongs to men, just like sports once did before us gals pitched our corsettes and discovered breathing. It takes time to emerge in any new arena. Four generations ago, women were considered too fragile for track and field events. Today, women are getting ever closer to running as fast as men. It would be no different if God were to suddenly check Her Timex and say, "Oh, look, it's time for men to give birth!" Can you say "episiotomy?" "Dear Dr. Manly, I just got out of the hospital with my first baby, and my wife is pressuring me for sex! I still have stitches! How can I get through to her?" Monday, February 22, 1999
Copyright 2010 by Deborah McAdams. All Rights Reserved. For Reprint Rights, click here.
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