Thursday, January 29, 2009


Admittedly, I'm one of those peculiar people who scan magazines and newspapers from the back before I open the front and dig in. That and only that led me to the article in the fashion magazine I had begun to flip through in a doctor's waiting room.
Near the back page, my interest was captured by a small memoir written by a woman with a serious eating disorder. "At last!" I silently saluted the editors, for here was a valuable precautionary tale, stark in its reality; I read it word for word. It was a thoughtful, almost journalistic piece that could have an influential impact on young women contemplating anorexia and all its various related disorders.
I turned back to the front cover and began to dig into this amazing magazine. I was angry and disappointed to find that, except for the young women's bitter memoir, every one of the magazine's many colorful pages threw the spotlight of perceived glamour on concentration-camp-thin models who were little more than bags of bones topped by designer clothing and hollow-eyed, slack-jaw faces, empty eyes and not a trace of a smile or facial expression to indicate any life or thought within.
Model American women? I thought of my sweet young granddaughters and put the magazine down.
I encourage you to share with me your own comments on such matters.

R.A.T. (Rose About Town)