A week ago I picked up a fashion magazine for the first time in 6 months. I can’t tell you how disconnected I felt from my former life while flipping through the pages of perfume ads and beautiful pictures of upcoming fashion collections. What’s “hot” and “trending” thrown all over the pages and I’m not really buying it…anymore, anyways.
I used to know every trend before it would hit magazines. I’d have already owned the latest fragrance and cosmetic obsession and probably the shoes on the next page. The purses featured in that Marc Jacobs ad would have already been on my shoulder or hanging on the door hook to my closet. The latest color story theme would have already been exhausted in my arsenal of junk. I was a walking advertisement.
These same magazines used to be validation that I was on track to all society told me was beautiful. They were beauty acumen measuring sticks and I used them religiously. Before… This new life- this new me.
My god, so much has changed. These moments as I’m staring at the Jessica Alba cover in front of me have me wondering how I could have gotten so far from the person I used to be in just six short months. The old me really cared about all this stuff. I worked in the beauty industry after all…it was my job. I was always supposed to look “pretty” until all that started deconstructing shortly after taking to the road with my big ugly backpack.
Continuing on through the glossy pages, I see bits of Hollywood gossip and magically don’t already know the premise of the story like I used to. What’s-his-name is marrying what’s-her-name and so-and-so is now the face of that one beauty brand. Whoa. I’m completely in the dark. Or is it the light? Outside the confines of the world no longer written for me… I would call it light. Yes.
I will say, it’s strange seeing full page ad spreads from the company I used to work for just 6 months ago. Strange not knowing anything about the marketing strategy or product knowledge behind the latest concoction they’re peddling. Strange knowing I won’t be implementing this new product into my daily routine and preaching about it to my team and my stores I used to be responsible for. Strange being so far away from that world that used to run me. Strange, but good.
This magazine is still a measurement stick… But used in a completely different way.
My new outlook gives me less interest in the pages and I don’t even finish flipping through before tossing it on the ground. I’m over it.
I’m sorry Vogue, Cosmo, Glamour and Allure, I’m not buying what you’re selling anymore.
I’m happy in last year’s color story and hair style (if you can even call what’s going on on my head a style). I realized right then how little pull these advertisements and consumerism have over me now. What a freeing feeling. Another few ounces of freedom for my already completely free lifestyle.
Anna Wintour, you can keep the shoes and purses. I’ll take my backpack, passport and last year’s nikes.