Grazia documents a fate worse than death
I’ve ‘heard’ (imagined?) your calls for more, and so now I give you
a fully digested dose of low-down fascist Grazism.
Today in Grazia, the Hollywood ‘divorce epidemic’ gets a good
going-over, and it kicks off by accusing Johnny Depp and his beau of imminent
divorce because ‘Vanessa was pictured alone at... the Fashion AIDS Gala in
Paris.’
What the FUCK? She didn’t take her lover to an event all about
AIDS?! There must be something wrong
if she wasn’t spotted hand-in-hand with the man she has sex with at that dream
date.
A ‘trusted source’ (read: Grazia intern) commented: ‘[Vanessa] is in
pieces, and Johnny is dealing with it in a very different way... / He [is] more
like the old Johnny, drinking whisky in the afternoon and hanging at night.’
Continuing on the theme of women ‘in pieces’ and men stoically
knocking back alcohol and owning the night, ‘Tragic Demi’s shocking cry for help’ headlines an examination of
the Moore and Kutcher saga. Lowdown: Ashton went to part-ay with a load of
sexually charged, adoring mythological nymphs women; Demi went mental.
And only a few pages later, the Katy Perry/Russell Brand
relationship breakdown is given a good, objective examination under the
inspiring headline: ‘Katy refusing to
divorce!’ Again, ‘a source’ ([s]he is EVERYWHERE!) tells us, ‘Katy is convinced
she’ll be able to change his mind. She’s insisting she is still Mrs Brand...
Russell has been distant and will only communicate by text.’
Perpetually hysterical women and aloof, restrained men? It’s so like
real life that I almost believed it in between frothing at the mouth and crying
over the state of fluffy bunnies in pet shops. Almost.
To take the heat off relationships, by the way, those articles were
sandwiched in between such tantalising questions as: ‘Does Cameron [Diaz] need
a skin-tervention?’ in which they
slag off Diaz’s face and then suggest it’s all because she had the plastic
surgery they practically forced her to get when they last slagged off her face.
Oh, I do like a pun.
Later on, Grazia covers the new take-the-piss blog Shit Fashion Girls Say, in which they
try to convince their readership that ‘you recognise yourself in it.’ HONESTLY,
it’s just a meanie blog that subverts the norm. But you want to be the norm.
You want to be the norm. I’m not going
to have to take you in for a skin-tervention, am I?
SO. Fashion. Translation: there’s a load of pages telling you what
to wear, in case they haven’t burrowed into your mind and laid their
slow-growing maggots of insecurity and shallowness but can still get you
through what you look like (which
becomes the all-important thing, of course.) Just to get you up to speed -
STUFF YOU SHOULD WEAR:
THINGS THAT GLITTER
THINGS WITH FRILLS
THINGS WITH BUNNIES AND PUPPIES ON
THINGS WITH FUR
[All actual serious things
that Grazia recommends you wear. Well, get on it, girlfriend.]
‘Now over to you’ says the penultimate page of Grazia. And for some
reason they haven’t posted any of the
letters I sent in under a variety of hilarious pseudonyms, so we can’t end on a
high. Fingers crossed for Glamour tomorrow, though!
Later, Grazis.
