“Glamour” Asks, “Hatemonger’s” Vomits We,

“Glamour” Asks, “Hatemonger’s” Vomits

For these “women’s magazines”—“Glamour,” “Cosmopolitan,” &c.—all appear to be devoted to reinforcing each and every stereotype harbored by the typical misogynist. Think women are shallow? Simply turn the pages of “Jane”’s fashion section, and see your prejudices confirmed. Think women have the attention span of gnats? Check out “Marie Claire”’s sundry three-word articles, and bask in your correctness. Think women are stupid? Geez, do we even need to offer an example?

In fact, women’s fashion magazines are so miserable, they almost compel us to check out “Ms.” Almost: A woman needs a copy of “Ms.” like a fish needs a bicycle.

We know what you are thinking, dear reader: So-called “men’s magazines,” of the “FHM” and “Maxim” variety, don’t exactly offer the impression that the stronger sex is a collection of budding Albert Einsteins. And, to be sure, you’re right. But let us save our ire regarding these sordid rags for another day. Tonight, as they say, is ladies’ night.

We, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” were reminded of the train-wreck called “women’s magazines” when a correspondent from our New York (NY) office sent us a copy of the May 2004 number of “Glamour” magazine.

You, dear reader, must be familiar with “Glamour”: It’s the women’s magazine chock-a-block with advertisements sure to make the average 16-year-old a hard-core bulimic. Well, perhaps we should be more specific: “Glamour” is the women’s magazine chock-a-block with advertisements sure to make the average 16-year-old a hard-core bulimic that bears the title “Glamour.” Ah, yes, you must be saying to yourself: That one.

This year’s May installment of the journal is no exception: It is replete with photos that make Kate Moss look like Nell Carter. Sure, all women look like this—when they’ve died of starvation.

But what most bothered us about this edition of “Glamour” was its “glamour asks, men answer” page. This month’s question—which was apparently the result of the collective brainstorming of the entire staff of “Glamour”—reads: “What’s the one thing you wish women knew about your body?”

What follows is a series of moronic answers offered by various moronic youngish men. The editors at “Glamour” offer nothing in the way of methodology for their mini-study; in fact, one is left with the distinct impression that they published the responses of the few guys who actually took the time to answer their query, instead of pushing them away forcefully, as any sensible character would.

So, what kinds of responses did the investigative team of “Glamour” come upon? Well, one Ryan Jackson opines: “I’ll pick out a pair of jeans because they make my butt look really good, not because they’re comfortable.” Thanks, Ryan. Somehow you’ve made us uncomfortable.

In a similarly intellectual vein, one Jeremy Demuth informs us that “My nipples are not a point of pleasure. In fact, I would prefer that they not be touched at all.” You can count on us, Jeremy: We’ll curb our overwhelming urge to fondle your teats.

But perhaps the most vertiginous answer was offered by one Leo White. The young Mr. Leo White avers: “We have to be happy with what we’ve got. It all comes down to genetics—I can’t change my body, just like women can’t change theirs. I try to accept who I am, to be a better person, not necessarily a better looking person.”

To which we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” reply: Oh, puh-lease. That commentary is so foul, we’re going to reach for our collective sick bag every time we hear the words “Leo Smith.” To make matters worse, we are entirely sure that this imbecile doesn’t believe a word he’s saying. He’s just playing the I’m Pretending to Care About Your Inner Beauty So I Can Get a Better Look at Your Outer Beauty angle. Anyone who doesn’t realize this doesn’t know the first thing about young lads.

Well, dear reader, there you have it: “Glamour” asks, and we, the crack young staff of “The Hatemonger’s Quarterly,” answer.