Glossed Over

Lucky's Jean Godfrey-June Goes Against "Type"

Ever modest, Lucky suggests we organize our accessories just like they do at the magazine’s HQ.  From “Lucky How-To,” September:

Store your jewelry…just like we do at magazines

Because, you know, the Lucky way is the best way!  Their tip about jewelry trays is valid…so in what other ways would we want to emulate Lucky?  If we ever wanted to make up words, amass a collection of expensive rubber pants, and sport the occasional heinous outfit (hello, Vanessa Minillo on the July cover), we’d definitely turn to Lucky for advice. 

Plus, Lucky beauty editor Jean Godfrey-June is extremely skilled at using the most inconsequential of personal anecdotes and stretching them into impassioned endorsements for overpriced beauty products, like the $48 hand cream she touts in September’s “The Beauty Closet.”  Hand cream!  $48!  The only thing more unbelievable than the price of the Peter Thomas Roth lotion is the story she tells to promote it.

My small town teems with Hollywood “types,” some legitimate, many wannabe or has-been.  They’re easy to identify:

Do tell us about “types”!  Is a “type” a man in sandals?  A woman who wears her sunglasses in a restaurant?

When they get ready to do something rude—say, shushing fellow adults as if they were toddlers, or elbowing past the crowd to grab the last tomato at the farmers’ markets—they press their hands together, as if in prayer.  Whether or not the “prayer” is accompanied by a bowing of the head, the gesture is the single most obnoxious of our time.

Well, yeah, that does sound annoying.  But those Hollywood “types” doing this sort of thing?  We live in L.A. and we’ve never once seen such a gesture.  Also, her description doesn’t make sense.  How do you press your palms together while plowing through a throng of people?  That isn’t to say this behavior doesn’t exist in Jean’s town—but maybe it has nothing to do with being a Hollywood “type” and everything to do with being an inconsiderate ass.

The practitioner may well be thinking, “I come in peace,” or more Hollywood, “I bow to what is holy in you.”  But the true message is unequivocal: “I am holier than thou!”

Also holier than thou?  People on the East Coast making broad generalizations about the way people on the other side of the country think and behave.  Yeesh.

Anyway, she goes on for a few more sentences about this alleged behavior and how returning the gesture is the sole defense against it.  (Don’t ask us to explain.  We read the whole thing three times and we’re still confused.)   Somewhere in the course of this fruitless exercise, we began to wonder what any of this had to do with the potion she’s tasked with hawking.  And what would Jean consider a “Hollywood type” beauty product, anyway?  A face lift?  Botox injections?  The blood of pious virgins?

Nope, it’s a $48 hand cream that magically trumps the lousy behavior of showbiz scoundrels.  We’ll let her describe it, since we found her segue to be a bit of a stretch:   

A smooth and youthful hand—naturally featured in this exchange—further irritates most Hollywood types, as age grates upon them more than most…

Good to know—having more youthful-looking hands is a surefire defense against annoying people!  Sounds like that cream would come in handy in places other than Hollywood…like, say, Jean Godfrey-June’s office.

A Glossed Over Guide: Becoming a Big-Time Beauty Editor

We never thought being a beauty editor was a particularly simple task—if you know what all those different mascara brushes do, you’re way ahead of us—but after reading Jean Godfrey-June’s completely phoned-in column, “The Beauty Closet,” in the June issue of Lucky, we’ve changed our tune.  In fact, based on this page alone, we’ve discerned there are just four easy steps to becoming a top beauty editor:

1.  Carefully select your featured products.  Think you should patrol out-of-the-way boutiques and track down women brewing body lotion in their kitchens?  Not necessary.  It isn’t even mandatory to seek out new formulations or effective innovations to share with your readers.  In fact, all you need to do is read the press releases from a couple of national chain stores, and maybe stroll through the cosmetics aisle at CVS once in a while.  Following the example set in Jean’s June column, a typical article can contain ringing endorsements of mass-manufactured products from commonplace shops like Bath and Body Works and Crabtree & Evelyn.  And why not throw in a L’oreal lip gloss that can be purchased in pretty much any drugstore in the U.S.?  Done!

2.  Find colorful ways to describe the items. Beauty editors are supposed to be creative, so be bold with your language.  Don’t be afraid to refer to candles with nonsensical descriptions like “stuffy, stodgy chic,” and feel free to use cloying constructions like “uber-British-y.”  Not sure what these phrases actually mean?  Don’t worry!  Your readers won’t know either!

3.  Keep the big picture in mind. Never forget that, as a beauty editor, your job is to sell products that no one really needs. Don’t hesitate to overstate the cultural importance of common items like lip gloss if you think it’ll move a few more units, and be sure to couch even the most pedestrian of beauty aids in convoluted, grandiose language.  Even though no one will truly comprehend your prose, they won’t want to admit it.  For example:

Women no longer powder their noses; cigarettes are out; only lipstick remains, a final holdout of the glamorous secreting away of oneself in full view that was once the epitome of femininity.

No editor will dare to delete sweeping generalizations about the nature of womanhood!

4.  Don’t sweat the small stuff.  For instance, don’t bother figuring out whether a shower foam saves time over a shower gel because it doesn’t require lathering.  No one’s going to test any of your baseless claims anyway because, well, they’re insignificant.  (How much time do you spend working up a lather in the shower?  Mere seconds!  See?)  Likewise, don’t waste a moment pondering if you, as the beauty editor, should even be recommending home accessories like candles, even if your magazine has a home decor section where candles would be much better suited.

With practice and persistence, a beauty editor position is easily attainable.  And if you get discouraged, keep the faith:  these four steps obviously worked for Jean Godfrey-June.

Previously:  A Glossed Over Guide: Parlaying Your Pregnancy Into Press

Surprise! Lucky Staff Actually Competent

We can’t believe we’re about to say this: we just read the April issue of Lucky, and we found very little to bitch about.

Yep, we’re shocked too.

Let’s start with the cover: We preferred the halcyon days (you know, 2002) when anonymous models graced Lucky’s cover, but it’s hard to argue with Parker Posey, especially when—get this—she’s not actually promoting anything.  (Except herself, apparently, but that’s good enough for us.  We loathed Superman Returns.)

So we flipped to the “Editor’s Letter,” which, for obvious reasons, is always the first thing we read.  We’re all about the schadenfreude!  But for the third consecutive month, Kim France mentions herself only in a not-too-personal, shopping-related context.

I never thought there was such a thing as a straw bag I’d seriously consider splurging on, much less carrying to work, or that a bright blue patent leather bag existed that I’d ever even consider thinking of as “me.”

We can handle that kind of revelation.  Further proof of some kind of transformation (or that someone else is actually writing these things):  she actually praises staffer Noria Morales—a far cry from her harsh treatment of Jean Godfrey-June—and leads with a thoughtful-enough discussion about whether this month’s New Orleans shopping guide is insensitive. 

Then there’s the language:  though dicey confabs like “vintagey,” “fashiony,” and “drapey” do squeak through, this issue is largely lacking the cloying language we’ve railed against.  We aren’t in love with “plant-y” or “organic-phile,” but at least we understand what they mean, which is a vast improvement over “just statement-y enough.”  We’re still puzzling over that one.

No, we haven’t completely abandoned our standards—we didn’t appreciate everything about this issue.  For instance: 

•  Was it really necessary to use “gleamy” five different times?  (See for yourself: pages 76, 129, 233, and 267, and “gleamiest” on 240.) 

•  If they’re going to feature real women so prominently (see “Real-Life Sunscreen Prescriptions,” “Real Ways to Wear Dresses,” “Four Girls, One Wrap Skirt,” “Lucky Girl”), couldn’t they find at least one who doesn’t closely approximate a professional model?  Seriously, Kim: put a size-12 woman in one of these reader-oriented features.

•  Jean Godfrey-June bores us.

•  And another story about layering?  Yawn.  Plus we’re feeling a bit of cognitive dissonance about a model wearing four layers above the waist with bare legs.  Put some tights on!   

Still, we’re nitpicking.  And even if Kim and company never top this issue, we won’t really mind.  The only thing we love more than a good issue of Lucky is a terrible one.

Lucky Staffers: Experts in Style, Snapping at Co-Workers

We dared hope that Kim France’s apparently diminished sense of self-importance—however temporary—would have a positive effect on Lucky staffers, because we are convinced that anyone so egocentric in print must be downright insufferable to work for. We dared to dream that the same confused but peaceful fog that fell over us as we read the current “Editor’s Letter” would also drift over the magazine’s HQ.  The changed workplace bound to result from France’s near-miraculous transformation would eventually yield reduced stress levels, less strenuous disagreements at staff meetings, and, most importantly for us, fewer made-up words.  Sure, Kim’s personality shift might make things more boring for us—we do look forward to her self-possessed screeds, after all—but Lucky would make up for it with inventive photo shoots and innovative fashion stylings.  Right?

Well, not so much.

Instead, in a move straight out of Lord of the Flies, creative director Andrea Linett fills the role, stepping in as the magazine’s chief antagonist.  Jean Godfrey-June documents this development in “Beauty Spy,” February:

At the end of a long, harrowing business trip, several members of the Lucky staff found themselves in San Francisco for one day, sitting in a single (if lovely) hotel room staring at one another, waiting for a final meeting, feeling haggard and jet-lagged.  We examined our respective emails for the 90th time, attempted to talk over one another on our cellphones, flipped the silenced TV from CNN to Oprah and back again.  “You’re the beauty editor,” blurted Andrea, looking at me.  “Find us a spa.”

It’s not enough the poor woman is forced into doing Kim France’s makeup.  Now she’s required to keep the other staffers entertained on business trips?  We aren’t huge fans of Godfrey-June (primarily because we are bored to tears by her modus operandi  of relating a personal anecdote only tenuously linked to the beauty product at hand to explain why she has grown irrationally attached to some new exfoliant/lip balm/perfume), but this woman has the patience of a saint.  If only that could be bottled up and, oh, sprayed on Andrea Linett.

In any case, it’s clear the calming effects of Kim’s break from navelgazing didn’t reach too far down the masthead.  Still, we’re consoled knowing that if the editor-in-chief has opted to permanently retire her diva crown, someone’s ready to step up and take her place.

We Read It So You Don't Have To: The Un-Lucky Life of Jean Godfrey-June

We hate to admit it, but this week’s installment of We Read It So You Don’t Have To will only save you the time it takes to peruse one page of September’s Lucky.  Still, it’s an egregiously obnoxious one page, so we’ll forge ahead with our summary of Jean Godfrey-June’s “Beauty Spy.”

This month, just like every other month, she initially doubts that she’ll like the product she’ll eventually promote. Is the fragrance too strong? Can any anti-aging ingredient live up to the dramatic claims of its manufacturers? Will the results really be worth the thirty seconds a day it takes to apply the product?

Then, also like every other month, she relates a dull anecdote only vaguely related to the product in question. She rides an elevator with someone who comments on the way she looks and/or smells. Her kids and/or husband question her religious use of some new-fangled device. Or there was this one thing that happened a very long time ago that, through a highly dubious sense of which topics are related, she manages to connect to the product in question.

And—you guessed it, just like every other month—she falls irrevocably in love with the item, cost be damned, and she hoards enough to last through a nuclear winter.

At this point, if these columns are to be believed, the woman must own enough beauty products to stock a Sephora.  And have you seen her on TV? She doesn’t even appear to wear makeup. What is she doing with all of this stockpiled stuff? Should we organize an intervention? Is Lucky complicit in her addiction by depicting her as a charmingly slender and well-dressed cartoon character each month?

But never mind all that negativity—it’s not important. We choose to look at the upside of this potentially disastrous situation: if Jean Godfrey-June continues to trot out these tired tropes month after month, we won’t need to bother reading her page. And we don’t have to relate a boring tale from our childhood to know that skipping this nonsense is something we can recommend to everyone.

The further adventures of Jean Godfrey-June: Lucky Sets New Standard for Passive-Aggressiveness, Long Lashes; Now Which Staffer Will Take Care of Her Hair?

Photo of Jean Godfrey-June and her ever-increasing collection from the News and Observer

Lucky Sets New Standard for Passive-Aggressiveness, Long Lashes

Lucky’s beauty editor, Jean Godfrey-June, uses her July column to relate an unusual ritual taking place at the magazine’s HQ:

We all love one mascara until one person’s lashes mysteriously look longer than everybody else’s, and two days later the entire office has run out and bought the new version du jour.

Sheesh. It’s like “Harrison Bergeron” come to life—one staffer simply cannot have longer lashes than anyone else! Everyone must be equal, or at least have equally full and glossy eyelashes.

How does this work, exactly? How do Lucky staffers manage to publish a magazine while so utterly wrapped up in the quest for the longest lashes? It must be incredibly time consuming keeping tabs on everyone: They have to ruthlessly inspect each woman in the office to see who maintains the lushest eyelashes, they must interrogate to find out what product(s) she’s using, they need to scheme to compensate for any kind of genetic advantage she may have, they’re forced to run to Duane Reade/Macy’s/Sephora and purchase those potions at any cost, and then it is absolutely crucial that they apply their purchases religiously. Then just show up to work—voilà! Everyone’s equal! No one has any kind of advantage whatsoever!—and repeat as necessary.

This anecdote only contributes to the not-entirely-misguided notion that fashion magazines set unrealistic beauty standards for women—based on Godfrey-June’s story, merely working at one is a fatal blow to any sense of individuality.  Worse, the competitiveness makes working at Lucky sound akin to being back in high school, except that in high school the skirmishes were occasionally related to something that actually mattered.

Unless, of course, winning the unofficial crown of “Longest Eyelashes in the Office” is truly important to these women.  In which case we probably shouldn’t put much stock in anything they say.

Now Which Staffer Will Take Care of Her Hair?

Kim France shouldn’t have titled February’s missive “Shoot Me Now.”  If she’s anything like her editor’s letters indicate, a member of her staff may well take her up on the offer. 

Not that we condone violence.  We just don’t believe in tempting fate.

As usual, the page’s content was grating. Writing that she engaged in a “whisperfight”—yes, as one word—with Andrea Linett worked our nerves, but it was the first vignette she related that really sent us over the edge.  Here’s how it played out, accompanied by a headless snapshot (tempting fate again!) of Kim:

Recently, our fashion director Hope Greenberg came over to my house, dumped all the contents of my closet onto my bed...

…where she already keeps several outfits, as we learned a few months back.  Wonder if Hope had to dig through the sheets for the rest of Kim’s clothes?

I would have happily paid Hope for her efforts...

...but her duties at Lucky include providing personal services for the editor-in-chief.  Just ask Jean Godfrey-June.

I should add, however, that her goal was not entirely altruistic: She and the rest of the fashion crew are simply dog-tired of hearing me whine and drone about how I can’t get dressed for anything: not work, not parties, not to walk the poor dog.

In short, she did it to shut me up.

And we certainly can’t begrudge Hope Greenberg for wanting that. We’re just going to consider ourselves lucky (pun intended) that we’ll never be conscripted into Kim France’s service in order to keep her quiet—we can just turn the page.  

All This and Health Insurance Too

We really don’t want to keep slagging on Kim France’s monthly missives, but she makes it so easy. From October:

I waited until the very last minute for this month’s photo to be taken, so Jean Godfrey-June, our peerless beauty director, was put on code-blue makeup duty.

Which we’re sure she appreciated, since she has no other duties at the magazine than to do than the editor-in-chief’s makeup.

At first she messed up the brows and said in a panic, "I’m not a makeup artist. I’m a writer by trade!"

Exactly. Writing about makeup doesn’t necessarily qualify one to apply it. France fails to recognize this might be a problem, and Godfrey-June soldiers on. In the end, while the beauty editor is satisfied, France doesn’t even comment on the finished job. Instead, she offers this bit of what is either friendly advice or sheer bitchery:

Quit your day job and you’re dead, Jean.

Ouch.

To top it off, the photo doesn’t even show the finished makeup job, just the beauty director acting as makeup artist on call. We love Lucky (really, we do), but sometimes we think it’s probably not a very nice place to work.