Wake the “F” Up

Privilege is anything but “pretty.”

As a beauty product junkie, I’ve been a loyal reader of a top woman’s magazine for years. The publication focuses on “all things beauty” and is a fun, glossy read.

Note: I decided not to include the magazine’s name as I want to be able to share this on social media without having a shit storm rein down on me. That may sound cowardly but, this is a litigious society and I can’t afford an attorney to get my dumb ass out of trouble.

Even though I’m out of work and trying to cut back on unnecessary expenses, the mag always offers great deals on yearly subscriptions. I like to think of it as part of my self-care. And I’m worth the fifteen bucks, even though as I reflect on this during a time of year when the reality of “need” is especially gut-wrenching, that fifteen bucks could probably feed a family of four.

That said, I do my best to do my part by donating as much as I can as often as I can.

I was soaking in a bubble bath the other night (generic brand) and paging through the December issue when I came across the monthly editorial from its Editor-in-Chief. Again, I’ve chosen to leave her name out of this story.

Normally, I skim through her twaddle and move on. But this time, her column affected me to such a degree that, well…I just had to write about it. It pissed me off, frankly.

The editor, a wife, and mother, no doubt worked her ass off to get where she is in an industry that is especially cutthroat. And I respect that. But this month, her prose carried with it the stink of entitlement.

From what I’ve ascertained, many of the mothers here have had their struggles. Brave and tough women, all, some of them are either raising kids on their own or are struggling financially or are dealing with other issues that make merely getting up in the morning a daunting task.

My hat is off to you ladies. You are fierce and fearless.

The editor in question, on the other hand, is a different animal, entirely. I don’t know what the magazine’s demographics are, but I expect that there are plenty of “regular” women, like myself, who are just looking for a good, escapist read. Women who don’t have the means to globe-trot and rub elbows with the likes of Marc Jacobs or Stella McCartney.

It’s fun to read about the best “drugstore” cosmetics as opposed to Chanel, Lauren, Tom Ford, etc. It’s fun to read about who shined like a disco ball on the red carpet. And it’s fun to read about the latest trends in cosmetic surgery (hell to the no), etc.

What’s not fun: Reading about the adventures of a rather clueless individual who blows gas about making her own sea salt on a family jaunt to Spain.

Lest you think I’m “jealous,” please think again. I’m jealous of Martin Scorsese, not the editor. (Kidding. Love you, Marty!)

Why I take umbrage to this: Because there are people all over this great country of ours who are grateful that they can buy a can of salt at the dollar store, much less dry their own on the Iberian peninsula.

As I think about it, the editorial brings to mind some of the stories here, where writers trumpet their extreme earnings while the rest of us stand on the sidelines with our hands out, pleading, “Please suh, can I have some more?”

Why such blather should surprise me is anyone’s guess. After all, we have an entitled asshole in the White House! His entire family has known nothing but wealth and privilege their whole useless lives. Can you imagine one of them having to work at an actual job? Sit in a cube that’s more akin to a stall? Adhere to one-hour lunch breaks? And then, after years of loyal servitude, get shit-canned over the phone like I was?

How about this: Try to picture Ivanka, the object of her creepy father’s even creepier lust, punching a time clock! That will happen around the same time I start flying jets.

Maybe I’m being overly sensitive. I mean, if I could make my own sea salt while basking under the Mediterranean sun, wouldn’t I bleat about it later? Shit, no. I would not.

So you know, the column’s focus was on scent and how it evokes particular memories. Here is the passage that set me off:

When I was in Spain this summer, we sun-dried our own sea salt in Majorca, then went to a little shop near where we ate dinner to buy flor de sal harvested from the same Ses Salines salt flats. When I popped open the can — later back at home, my kids shouted, “it smells like Majorca!”

“Gee, kids! How cool is that? Know what? Get outta here”

For those of us who don’t vacation in Majora, flor de sal means Salt Flower. Now, is it me, or is this type of self-important strutting gag-worthy?

I’m not so offended by the message as much as I am by the way it was conveyed. As if the messenger had no clue of the disparity around her and the reality that people are struggling to make ends meet, for God’s sake. Struggling to feed themselves and their families. Working for minimum wage.

I get that this magazine is about beauty, not our country’s economy but all I can say is, the salaries must be pretty damned good.

We, as writers, understand that words are powerful and the way in which we say things is as important, or maybe more so, as what we’re putting out into the world. I’ve learned this particular lesson the hard way. More than once.

Admittedly, I’m particularly sensitive in that I haven’t received an actual paycheck in almost two years. And I’m better than that. Much better, yet I can’t seem to catch a break. So, where someone else might read the editorial and think of it as “aspirational,” I think, “WTF?” Just as I do when I see TV commercials touting luxury automobiles as holiday gifts. What world are we living in?

This is what doesn’t compute: While the editor raves about her kids raving about Majorca, there are other, less privileged children starving in this country. Their parents would love to afford a bus ticket, let alone a first-class airline ticket to Spain.

A little empathy for others, folks. That’s all I’m asking.

According to nokidhungry.org, in the United States, one in seven children lives with hungry. The bigger picture: According to the U.S. Department of Agriculture (USDA), more than eleven hundred children in our country live in “food insecure homes,” which means the family members don’t get enough to eat in order to live in a manner that’s deemed “healthy.”

Maybe the editor should set her cannister of DIY sea salt aside and chew on these stats:

Over 4.5 million U.S. kids live in food deserts and lack access to grocery stores with fresh fruits and vegetables.

On average, children in rural areas are more likely to experience food insecurity and lack access to quality health services.

Close to 1 in 3 American children are overweight or obese, and obesity in children has more than tripled over the past 35 years, putting children at higher risk for serious, even life-threatening health problems.

In communities where Save the Children works, an average of 59 percent of children do not have access to fresh, healthy foods; in some areas, it’s as much as 98 percent.

Here’s more self-satisfied bunk from the editorial:

In (country), last summer, my daughter and I treated ourselves one afternoon to tea at the (uber-luxe) hotel. Now, the scent of not only jasmine tea but also jasmine fragrances brings me half a world away to that fancy dining room, nibbling on tiny sandwiches and cakes.

Again, maybe I’m being unfair and bristly. But the manner in which this was written is offensive, in my humble opinion. Plus, the older I get, the less idiocy I can tolerate.

Maybe if she’d included some type of giveaway to the first fifty readers who wrote back via email, describing their favorite scents and what they evoked for them. Jasmine fragrance oil could be the giveaway. I don’t know.

Perhaps this editor should stick to writing about lip conditioners and designer perfumes and the wonders of glycolic acid. Meanwhile, if the craving for a “tiny cake” should come upon her, she could always shove a Twinkie up her bum.

I’d like to thank Helen Cassidy Page for her input here. She gave me the virtual slap upside the head that I needed. But, sweetly.

Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. Her work has appeared in The Chicago Tribune, Chicago Sun-Times and numerous other publications. Sherry’s manager is currently pitching her newest screenplay, a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story.

As always, I appreciate your reading. If you’re up for more: