Glossy magazines - they're all the same. They are. Trying to read one is depressing at the best of times. (There are studies that show women's seratonin levels deplete at the speed of sound as they compare their own thighs to those of Naomi Campbell. Well, there aren't, but there should be.) Ploughing through a whole pile of them all in one go is soul destroying.
Not only do I not look like any of the models, but I can't afford any of the clothes or face creams, I haven't got the will power to follow any of the advice for a better body/man/job/mood/life, and I am genuinely distressed by the serious features about babies dying at nursery and suffering street children.
There is none of the fun of Heat magazine, the comforting feeling that really the lives of the rich and famous are as complicated as our own. Look, Cameron Diaz gets acne too. No, the big glossies are unfollowable step-by-step guides to an unattainable life.
The idea is that these things are "aspirational", but we'll never be part of this club. Why not? Because it doesn't exist, and if it did it would only accept flawless beauties who drink two litres of water a day and have £5,000 to spend on a jacket.
Before we even start reading, we are faced with the glowing complexion of the wealthy and young woman on the cover. At the moment we've got Lucy Liu (Red), Jennifer Aniston (Marie Claire), Christina Aguilera (Elle) and Jennifer Lopez (Cosmopolitan). Andrew J Hill, senior lecturer in behavioural sciences at the University of Leeds, admits that comparing your own image and lifestyle with those presented in magazines can be "disappointing". That's for sure. "People differ in their capacity to deal with this," he says.
Well, that's probably because the magazines tell you how to become as perfect as the people they are marketing. The advice offered is exhaustive. It includes handy tips on what to do and what not to do on the red carpet - "use tit-tape" - but don't show both your legs and your boobs as that would be "slutty not vampy" (Red). What's wrong with slutty?
But obviously you can't start contemplating red carpets until you get in better shape. This involves exercise, creams and surgery. "Weekend to a wow body" (Red). You have to do 20 squats and then jog up and down the stairs for five minutes. Then drink some water. Honestly. Harpers and Queen tells us to drink peppermint tea before going to bed for a flatter stomach in the morning. Cosmopolitan is my personal favourite though: "Your 28-day happy diet. Lose one stone. Change your body shape. Get clear skin." OK then.
The message is - worry about being ugly. And that's not all you need to worry about. "Will I find a man?" (Cosmopolitan), "Are you with Mr Right?" and "Are you a Permarexic?" (Elle), "How healthy is your diet?" and "How sussed is your skincare?" (Marie Claire). Has the anxiety kicked in yet? It should have done, because here's the solution.
The rules to which readers must conform. This month, for example, the glossies agree that you will wear metallic clothes. You will obey Elle's command to "Copy Kate". This is Kate Moss we're supposed to be trying to look like here. Uh huh. Tatler is upfront about the consequences of disobedience with its biblical commandment "Thou Shalt Covet".
Oh, thou shalt. But thou shalt not be able to afford any of it. In the end, this is the reason for the existence of these magazines. They are here to browbeat you into spending money. Most of the articles featured in the glossies tell you that the answer to your problems (and, boy, do you have problems) is to buy something. Again, Cosmopolitan offers us a perfect example with "What's your body problem?" The photo that goes with this piece is of a young woman who definitely does not have one. Is it your breasts that are the problem? Advertised cream, £88. Bottom? £35. Stomach? £27.50. Legs? £21. Back? £4.99. Let's hope it's your back.
You have to dress a certain way, do your makeup a certain way (the idea of not wearing any does not come into this), behave, eat and exercise a certain way. And then what will you be? Fictional, probably. For isn't this what we all aspire to? The ultimate goal. Being perfect.
"People don't buy these magazines passively," says Hill. "Purchase is selective, and women may not be buying them to make themselves happy." Want to wallow in your own worthlessness anyone? Buy a magazine.
