Damn Gawker Media for their pioneering of all that is fresh, witty, and smart in the blogosphere. Their newest venture, Jezebel, is a women’s magazine done right … on crack. Not quite Jane (pre-Pratt departure), not quite Us Weekly, Jezebel strives to “take all the essentially meaningless but sweet stuff directed our way and give it a little more meaning, while taking more the serious stuff and making it more fun, or more personal, or at the very least the subject of our highly sophisticated brand of sex joke.” Did someone say sex? I’m in.
From the powdery white appearance of its editors, Jezebel looks like the cocaine to Gawker’s marijuana. And whoever told me gateway drugs are harmless was clearly never sucked into performing all of the Top 10 Mac OS X Tweaks. It’s been a day and I already love silly Jez. A gal who has the balls to rip off consignment shops with re-labeled H&M certainly deserves a spot on my blogroll and RSS feed reader.
The big meta lie is that this is one big postmodern joke on which we are all in. And that all the surreality and celebphemera and retail therapy is harmless escapism, that it has always been this way, that it is not symptomatic of some sort of larger societal cancer. The big lie is that we haven’t let the norms of the celebrity-sartorial complex seep into the way we see everything in the world, perpetuating the notion that all of life is high school, and the pretty people are the only ones worth your attention, and that alpha girls are entitled to act cruel and inhuman towards their subordinates, and that all the world would be that way anyway. Because it wouldn’t. And though we’ve found women’s magazines to be a fairly trusty engine of hilarious tidbits, it is not all one big joke.
Wait, so living like a Sex and the City character is an unhealthy thing? Fuck.