You know, I’ve heard people say that the possibility of being able to end it all, is the only thing that allows them to keep going. I don’t have much interest in death, but I just finished reading Into the Wild and that’s my kind of suicide porn: the idea that I could march off into the wilderness and leave it all behind. That book is so sad though. It really made me sad the way he died, and people are all up in arms about why they should make a book about this holier than thou drifter, like what was the point of what he did? That’s like when people say they don’t understand poetry. There’s nothing to understand. It is what it is, and if you can read then you’ve gone 99.9% of the way. People don’t listen to music and say, “But I don’t understand music.”
I don’t know what’s happening to me. I’m getting so cynical. I used to love fashion magazines. I mean, I’ve been buying Vogue with my own money since I was ten years old. I remember when Gisele was discovered, the first time she was in Vogue, the first time she did Paris fashion week, especially this one fuschia dress, Dolce & Gabbana I think. As recently as a year ago, I could read headlines like, “The Right Way to Shower,” without irony, I thought, well maybe we could be better at showering, let’s see what the professionals have to say, lather, rinse, and repeat and all that. But about two days ago I was thumbing through something while at the gym and I came to one of those sections where people write in with their questions about health, or fashion or whatever, and one of the questions was someone asking how to keep her bangs out of her eyes when she was working out. The answer? Wear a headband. I’ve always been dubious of these question and answer sections anyway, because seriously who are these people trying frantically to keep their bangs out of their eyes, who suddenly go oh I know I’m going to sit down at my secretary and pen a little letter to Marie Claire and then wait patiently for three months for the answer, all the while letting their sweaty bangs hang in their eyes when they’re on the elliptical, never once considering the possibility of a headband or bobby pin or lobotomy?
That’s my question Marie Claire. I will be waiting for your reply.