I used to have a subscription to Seventeen Magazine when I was fourteen, like many other teenagers I knew. Every month, a fresh issue would be delivered to my mail box with my own name on the cover next to the sparkling, acne-free face of American’s next top model. In this way, I was able to denigrate myself on a monthly basis by taking quizzes that showed I was unhip, looking at makeup I had no idea how to apply or afford, and reading stories about teens who were living my fantasy life.
I wish I could say that all those beauty, style, and relationship tips somehow enhanced my life. Now I’m 38 years old and there is no magazine on the market that provides me with the type of information I really need.
Meanwhile, my brother read Nintendo Power at age 14; he is now upper-middle management of a multi-national sportswear corporation.
He doesn’t know how to bang open file drawers with his knuckles, though, so I’ll reserve the jealousy for another issue.
Xtreme Secretary 