Get Thee Behind Me, Conde Nast!
I am so tempted.
I love the photos. I love that I can get lost in serious, serious discernment about face creams for thirty minutes when one of those things comes in the mail. I love the ridiculous outfits and the inspiration for my own fashionable-fat-girl sartorial efforts. I love that I actually tear out pages and bring them to Sephora to get products, thereby proving that I am a first class suckah consumer and hypocrite, too, since I constantly deride consumerism.
I love the vapid articles.
But I just don't think I can allow this to happen. I currently get Martha Stewart Living and Self (a huge disappointment) and Lucky (a magazine about shopping! How debauched!) and Real Simple and the UU World and the Harvard Divinity School Bulletin and the Christian Century for serious reads and I pick up celeb trash mags on occasion at the supermarket check-out. I read Allure and Glamour while my nails are drying at the manicurist. I buy Harper's and the New Yorker on occasion.
I recycle two or three Trader Joe's paper bags worth of paper products every two weeks; not too bad.
Aw geez. Someone environmentally conscious talk me out of this, willya?