Stop Giving Your Daughters Teen Magazines

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Fuck you, Teen Magazines!  I fucking hate you!

My grandmother got me a subscription to one of these shit rags when I was about 12-years-old and I got one every month in the mail for about three or four years.  I had these things coming out of my ass, issue after horrible, damaging, inane issue month after month after month.

The first thing I remember was fucking Emma Snowball on the cover of one. (Can’t be her real name, right?  Snowball? The implications in terms of race and beauty are staggering, but that’s not what this is about.) Blonde, perfect skin, perfect teeth, legs so thin you could fit a fucking toaster oven between her thighs, and of course, she was sublimely, impossibly hairless.

So there I was, 12-years-old, already starting to show signs of my first mustache, skin breaking out everywhere, struggling to figure out what and what not to shave. I was a fucking mess and each month in the mail I was getting a glossy book full of insidious perfection.

“I was a fucking mess and each month in the mail I was getting a glossy book full of insidious perfection.”

“This is what girls look like!” the layouts seemed to scream. “Here are tall, thin, graceful, angelic girls with beautiful feet wearing tiny shorts and feathered headdresses on horseback in the rain forest!  This is normal!”

How can I describe what it felt like?  It negated my whole existence.  I was by no means fat at that age, but I was awkward with heavy brows, hairy arms and unpredictable pores. How could I stack up to girls in sequined mini-dresses draped across Vespas or whatever the fuck?  Who me?  I didn’t look like that and I was never going to look like that. God, it was fucking depressing and horrible.

Now what is a girl supposed to think?  What is she supposed to mutherfucking think about her priorities when she is regularly being fed such a visually seductive covers that say things like, “Cute looks for summer!”  or “Our favorite outfits!” or  “Fresh spring makeup!”?  They should have been saying, “Being hairy is alright”  or “This shitful time of your life will be over soon!” or “Get a Master’s Degree in Engineering!” or “Learn an Instrument!”  or “Bone up on C++!” I mean, I don’t hate fashion, but at least some of the time they should have said that shit.

Is stress making you fat?!

Is stress making you fat?!

You know what else was the fucking worst about these stupid-ass magazines?  The question and answer section they had every month. The one where readers would send in, “Embarrassing Gyno-probs” anonymously, to be answered by supposedly legit resources.

Now, look, it’s not like I was some sexual savant at that age, but even I knew that I couldn’t get pregnant from a toilet seat. DID THEY HAVE TO PRINT THAT EVERY MONTH? How stupid did they think we were?

“Dear Teen Magazine, If I sneeze and then wipe with the same tissue after I pee, can my vagina get a sinus infection?”  Like, what?  Even at 14 you know I was like, “Bitch please, take your dumbass to the library and read a goddamn book.”

Oh!  And how about the inevitable “Embarrassing Moments” feature?  “Dear Seventeen, once I was at my boyfriend’s house and I threw away my maxi-pad in the trash.  Then my boyfriend’s dog carried into the dining room and chewed on it during dinner!  I was SOOOO embarrassed!”

Okay now, let’s think about this.  How does a story like that register with a young girl?  I can tell you how.  IT WILL MAKE HER A FUCKING BASKET CASE.

The first thing she thinks is, “MY PERIOD IS A DISGUSTING SOURCE OF SHAME.” The second thing she thinks is, “I CAN NEVER SAFELY DISPOSE OF MY SANITARY NAPKINS LEST THEY GET CARRIED AWAY BY A DOG AND REVEALED TO ALL THE DINERS AT THE TABLE.” What I’m saying is that it creates anxiety and shame.  Right?  Am I right? Am I crazy?

Suck shit, Teen Magazines! Radicalize your fucking shit! Tell girls, “That’s right honey, you get your period.  That shit is a beautiful act of nature and it’s your license to be a bitch. Tell everybody about it and don’t be ashamed. If they can’t handle it, then that means they’re stupid little babies. Smear fucking menstrual blood on your face and march in a Uterus Parade.  RISE UP, YOUNGIN’!”

"Get Your Best Butt!"

“Get Your Best Butt!”

For example, do a Google image search for Seventeen magazine right now.  Go ahead.  You know what jumps out at me? A cover featuring Avril Lavigne (the star of one of my future columns, probably) across which  is emblazoned large yellow text reading, “ GET YOUR BEST BUTT!”


There is so much wrong with that I can’t even start.  You’re going to have to extrapolate upon that theme yourself, I won’t go there.  It’s too disgusting. A 17-year-old is a child. The only thing she needs to use her butt for is sitting and pooping. It does not need to be the best, and, in fact, it might be safer and more prudent for her if it were just one of the regular butts walking around.

If you’re a parent, don’t buy this toxic waste for your daughter.  And don’t tell me about, “Sometimes they have stories about young girls who help the homeless,” or whatever the fuck.  That’s not what that shit is about, and you know it.  It’s about lip gloss and bikinis and being an empty-headed twat who puts looking good over everything else.

Some of you will say, “So many evils in the world and she wants to fuck with Teen Magazines?  Come on, quit wasting my time.”  But look here, dummy, you want to change the big things, you need to change the small things first.

You want women to be more equal, more self-assured, more healthy?  Buy your daughter a subscription to Mother Jones and burn those other magazines in the backyard while you dance around the fire bra-less listening to Kate Bush. There, now that’s more like it.