Glossed Over

A Sticky Situation in Lucky's September Issue

In its patriotic mission to stimulate the economy, Lucky does everything it can to make shopping easier for the few, the proud, the misanthropes who detest malls, and the between-sizes Americans prone to fitting-room meltdowns. With the stickers marked “YES!” and “MAYBE?” in every issue, vicarious shopping has never been easier! 

This month, instead of tearing out the stickers to annotate a publication with actual paragraphs (like, say, a book), I actually affixed them to the magazine's comparatively noteworthy pages. And in my mission to help you avoid “reading” Lucky, here's what I culled from the September issue:

YES! I may need the entirety of Anna Sui’s Gossip Girl-inspired collection for Target, now that I’ve seen the two-page ad near the front of this issue. Unchecked spending on stuff I don’t need makes me a good American, right?

YES! Just as expected, Kim France’s “Editor’s Letter” does acknowledge the crummy financial climate, but adds that “against all odds,” the magazine’s fashion editors found plenty of great stuff for fall. Such sacrifice!

YES! Lucky continues its slaughter of the English language on page 94, trotting out the non-word “splurgier.” Are there fuses in my brain? Because I think one just blew.

MAYBE? It is totally acceptable to shop at outlets. If you’re in Italy and buying stuff at the Prada outlet, that is. (page 108)

YES! There exists an article of clothing called “zoot pants,” and Lucky’s “Style Spy” expects you to wear them for fall.

YES! Lucky’s editors may suffer from long-term memory loss, since they’ve managed to load up “The Smart Shopping Sourcebook” with heaps of accessories and clothes under $100, but can’t seem to remember those stylish bargains long enough to insert many of them in other features.

YES! According to “Accessories Report,” eyeglasses are in for fall. Great! I hate when glasses are out and I have to go around squinting. Suffer for fashion, right? (Or, you know, wear them and look like I don’t care about my appearance at all.)

MAYBE? Ed Hardy’s new perfume, which, according to the ad in this issue, is a “vintage tattoo inspired fragrance,” could be less appealing. But probably not.

YES! Cosmetics are the sure path to happiness and fulfillment! According to “Beauty Spy,” hot pink blush will make you “instantly feel 5,000 times prettier.” The latest anti-wrinkle potions are “kind of miraculous.” A saffron lip stain is “unexpectedly gorgeous”—for $65, it had better be. A new Maybelline lipstick is “perfect,” and a handful of acne products work with “stunning efficiency.” Yay!

MAYBE? Despite the wisdom so altruistically dispensed on page 214, most readers probably don’t need detailed instructions on shampooing.

YES! It is possible to “Love Your Hair,” as page 224 exuberantly instructs. It doesn’t require a shift in perspective—just a heap of drugstore products, a $140 flat iron, and a $34 shampoo. Easy!

MAYBE? We shouldn’t take beauty editors’ advice as gospel, since in “Skin Regimens of Beauty Editors,” one confesses that she hates washing her face at night and another never takes off her eye makeup before bed. As all of us who’ve been indoctrinated by a lifetime of women’s mags know, not washing up before sleeping is a cardinal sin.

MAYBE? I might have actually used the stickers to mark various pages of the “Lucky Fall Shoe Guide.” I’ll never tell.

YES! As noted in “40s Modern,” the right clothes can make me “magpie-cool.” Whatever that means.

YES! A $415 leopard-print blouse can be worn for work, weekend, and evening, according to “Fall’s Most Versatile Pieces.” Good thing, too, because at that price, it’d be the only blouse I own.

MAYBE? An $1195 Emporio Armani jacket and $630 Bruno Frisoni pumps, as seen on pages 280 and 281, aren’t the best exemplars of the “punk rock” or “collegiate” style the spread is supposed to embody. But then, neither is posing those “punk rock” models in front of a nightclub advertising a show presented by Radio Disney. Oops!

YES! Now that I’ve read the entire issue, I do want to purchase a new wardrobe! Lucky, you’ve successfully completed your mission.

Lowest Common Denominator: Glamour, September

3: Number of exclamation points in the coverline touting the Jessica Simpson story

$13,000: Value of “stuff you want” that Glamour is giving away, per page 64

1: Number of days editor-in-chief Cindi Leive’s assistant spent dressed as Lady Gaga for the “Dare of the Month”

3.5: Time, in minutes, before most women would be sent home from the office if they showed up in fishnets and a leotard

So, so much: Amount I covet the Hugo Boss bag in the ad following page 78

12: Size clothing worn by model Crystal Renn, whose book, Hungry, is reviewed in “Do Get the Season’s Stylish Reads Here,” complete with an excerpt of a “moment we love”

Perhaps 1: Number of size-12 models photographed by Glamour for this issue (keep reading)

2009: Year in which Glamour apparently thinks red lipstick was invented, given their extravagant praise of the stuff on page 89

3: Pages of lipstick ads surrounding the aforementioned feature (1 immediately before and 2 right after)

Nil: Value of the advice given by Domenico Dolce and Stefano Gabbana to “play up your prettiest parts.” Really? I shouldn’t highlight my worst features?

100: Page on which Faith Hill recommends Coldplay. You know, they’re that obscure new band you might otherwise have never heard of?

100: Coincidentally, also the page on which I lost my patience with mega-rich celebrities sharing their “knowledge.” See also: why I don’t subject myself to GOOP

50: Percent of men surveyed by Glamour who told the magazine they “groom their privates”

15: Age, approximate, at which I last used the word “privates” non-ironically

1987: Year in which pleated high-waisted pants, like those shown on page 116, should remain. What’s next, paperbag waists?

Zero: Amount the use of “Kate Moss” as a verb, as in “11 Touches That ‘Kate Moss’ Your Wardrobe” on page 133, should be tolerated. Please stop. Now.

5: Number of “fantasies he’s having about you right now” and suggested “real way[s] to romance a guy,” as detailed in the “Men, Sex & Love” section

194: Page you should turn to right now to see a model who actually might be a size 12

+1: Points for featuring Robin Givhan in “Meet the Woman on Michelle Watch”

-10: Points for the article not actually being about Givhan, despite its title

35: Percent of survey respondents who think cover star Jessica Simpson should reunite with ex-husband Nick Lachey

Infinite: My astonishment that people actually have an opinion about who Jessica Simpson should date

0: Approximate number of Americans other than me who have neither read nor seen any part of the Twilight series. Four of the films’ stars appear in a beauty feature called—what else?—“Twilight Beauty”

+1: For including a same-sex pair in “Secrets of Happy Couples”

2,497: Estimated appearances of Clinique’s Dramatically Different Moisturizing Lotion in stories similar to “24 Best Beauty Buys Now”

36: Financial tips dispensed in “Your Money,” starting on page 268

Not surprisingly, 0: Recommendations in the aforementioned article to invest in clothes or shoes

4: Violent incidents mentioned in “Sex with a Stranger”

1: Number of men in the same article confessing to “really want[ing] to kill” a woman because she wouldn’t have sex with him

5: Meals actress Meryl Streep claims to get from a single chicken in “Hey, Glamour Readers! Julia Child is Making You Dinner”

The 20 Life-Changing Lessons in September's Cosmopolitan

Until I read this month’s issue, I thought Cosmopolitan was like the TSA: a mostly pointless institution that nonetheless will never go away.    

It takes a big person to admit they were wrong. So, I’m just going to come out and say it: I’m a big person. The September issue was full of top-notch journalistic insight and information that will undoubtedly change my life—and yours, too!

Here are the top twenty things I gleaned from those precious 262 pages:

1.    “Hoo-ha” an acceptable word to print on a magazine cover. But is it better than “va-jay-jay”?

2.    Cosmo’s reporters doggedly pursue their subjects in a quest for truth. For instance: After a showdown that must have rivaled the Frost-Nixon interviews in tension, actress Kristen Bell finally admitted that—ready?—she eats no salad dressing except Bob’s Big Boy bleu cheese. Scandalous!

3.    Interacting with a male in the wrong way can have disastrous consequences. That’s why “Grab His Butt Like This” so painstakingly described four different ways of, well, grabbing a man’s butt. The stakes are high!

4.    At last, there is a cure for the dreaded football addiction that strikes so many men. And about time, too, because there’s no way we would enjoy watching football with them! (“The Guy Report,” page 76)

5.    The Rolling Stones are relevant in 2009, because a $44 Stones logo tee is a must for fall. Guess my New Pornographers t-shirt needs to hang unworn in the closet until I’m eligible for Social Security. (“8 Must-Have Items,” page 83)

6.    It’s possible to be “ballsy” and have a hoo-ha, and the best way to demonstrate that is by pairing socks with high-heeled sandals! Could this be the fourth wave of feminism? (“Ballsy Looks to Try Now,” page 86)

7.    Someone at Cosmo thinks “brond” is a word meaning a mix of blond and brunette hair. And I’d pegged “shootie” as this year’s ubiquitous portmanteau!

8.    Camilla Belle is more well-known than I thought. Cosmo surveyed 100 men to find out which shade of lipstick they prefer on her, and none of the responses were “Who’s Camilla Belle?”

9.    Actress Anna Faris is “ballsy,” just like socks and sandals! Good for her! She even has a hoo-ha. (“Fun Fearless Female,” page 120)

10.    Cosmo girls aren’t concerned with a man’s looks. That’s why the magazine devised a “Stud Meter” to inform readers of famous men’s physical charms. Among the findings: Ryan Reynolds and Chace Crawford are more attractive than a cross-dressing Mariah Carey or Coolio. Yes, Coolio. If the Stones are relevant now, his time is coming!

Lowest Common Denominator: Lucky, November

$2.99: Lucky’s cover price

$30: Suggested retail of Kim France and Andrea Linett’s new book, “The Lucky Guide to Mastering Any Style,” excerpted in the November issue

97%: Oddly enough, the amount of content in those excerpted pages that looks exactly like every single issue of Lucky

1: Number of times each that the alleged word “fashiony” is applied to the Gap and Banana Republic

2: Staffers who publicly admit to “converting” to Jessica Simpson’s new fragrance, Fancy, after Simpson appeared on October’s cover

31.5: Months, at the current rate of 2 employees per month, until the rest of the editorial staff is engulfed in the Great Simpson Perfume Convergence

10: Brands of non-Simpson perfume advertised in this issue, including—so help me—Fairy Dust by Paris Hilton

“Hugely”: Amount powder could potentially change your appearance, according to “Loose Powder: How and Why” in “Beauty Spy”

3: Number of “dramatically different looks” that can be achieved simply by using a different mascara, according to page 144 of “Beauty Spy”

47: Other life issues, approximately, I need to tackle before I’ll have even the slightest motivation to test  on my own face Lucky’s gripping hypotheses about the transformative powers of cosmetics 

“All the time”: Frequency with which beauty editor Jean Godfrey-June buys “things [she] can’t afford,” as divulged in “The Beauty Closet”

$86,483: Total retail value of all jewelry featured in “The Lucky Fall Jewelry Guide”

56: Number of adjectives and adjectival phrases in “The Season’s Best Coats”

26: Number of apparel items described by those 56 terms

30: Even more meaningless descriptors—like “nonchalant crisp” and “cozy meets flirty”—applied to the ensembles in “A Month of Outfits”

Infinite: Desperation emanating from the pop-up that screams “WAIT! SUBSCRIBE TO LUCKY!” when leaving Lucky’s website

Looking for Meaning in Lucky's Loopy Descriptions

Confession: I talk to myself when I read Lucky. I don’t plan to; it just happens that a flabbergasted “What?” or “Huh?” escapes my lips every few pages. (Incidentally, this is why I no longer read Lucky on airplanes.)

See, even when the magazine’s product descriptions aren’t rife with “rich” and “fashiony,” there is still a fundamental gap between my brain and the Lucky hivemind. My lack of comprehension usually corresponds to one of these three forms:

1. “Plucked from the wardrobe rack at a Cyndi Lauper video shoot.”

I get what they’re saying. I just don’t grasp the appeal.

2. “A menswearish vest is a bit sexy but kind of office-appropriate.”

I am often baffled by the lack of specificity. Between “-ish,” “sort of,” “kind of,” “a bit,” and “-style,” a paucity of definitive statements exists in this magazine. Pair these qualifiers with Lucky’s frequent contradictory descriptors, and you get aneurysm-inducing vagaries like “laid-back but a bit dressy.” Well, which is it? Make up your minds, already! If it’s “a bit” dressy, then it’s not really dressy, right? Which makes it laid-back. Which renders the whole sentence meaningless!

3. “Recalls the ferocity of a hoop skirt in a black-and-white photo.”

And sometimes, Lucky provides an image so esoteric, bizarre, or just plain unhelpful that I’m forced to rely on sheer conjecture to decipher their intent.

I now present the five most inscrutable product descriptions from the July issue of Lucky!

From “Our Obsessions”:

We love the raffia-esque design on this easy ballet-style flats.

And I almost kind of like how Lucky can maybe only issue the vaguest sort-of-good statement. They should have no trouble committing to a pair of shoes, right?

From “Shoes of the Month: Strappy Platforms”:

Gleamy, finespun straps have a touch of disco-goddess allure.

Pretty sure that no one except maybe ironic-fashion acolytes would actively seek “disco-goddess allure,” whatever that might consist of, and anyway, none of them are reading Lucky.

Just amazing—silver-gold crackly leather telegraphs a decayed luxury.

Because, you know, you want to evoke decay when you spend $790 on a pair of sandals.

From “The Season’s Best Looks Under $100”:

Conjures a hot woman on a Vespa, after-hours.

Read: fisticuffs broke out at Lucky HQ during a discussion about whether these shoes are trashy in a good way or trashy in a bad way, and, OMG, the fashion department interns still aren’t speaking to each other.

So open and drapey in the sexiest way.

I cannot figure out how a $38 purple and black star-motif cardigan that looks like it was filched from Pete Wentz’s closet is “so open and drapey in the sexiest way.” But then, I also haven’t the faintest idea what that phrase is supposed to indicate in the first place, so maybe it actually does make sense. I may never know!

Lucky Admits Defeat, Lets Readers Write the Captions

We’re concerned about the mental welfare of the staff of Lucky, and not just because of that strange belt they stuck on poor Rachel Bilson on the March cover. No, apparently the entire masthead is suffering from a rare but serious illness known as “caption dementia,” which is not quite the same as thinking the editors are demented after reading their captions. (Besides, for us the sensation is usually more akin to rage.)

Kim France has the details in the “Editor’s Letter.”

It is always unusually fun for us to put together our March issue, one of the most fashion-packed of the year. But it is also our unique torture because loads of fashion means loads of text!

“Loads of text,” relatively speaking, of course. This issue does have more words than the Anthropologie catalog!

And for those of us involved in the writing and editing of this text, that leads to something known to us as caption dementia, and—while it has not yet appeared in any of the diagnostic manuals—the condition is very, very real indeed.

Oh, we’re convinced.

It sets in after one has struggled with a new way to describe that 16th peep-toe slingback in the shoe guide without repeating any other adjectives already in the shoe guide or employing any of the words I’ve banned (“yummy” or “delicious” for anything that’s not food, for example).

But “sturdying” (page 200) is okay as a descriptor.

She goes on to chronicle how dedicated the Lucky staffers are. They wake up in the middle of the night, dreaming about captions. They go out in public and practice writing captions about the women who walk by. Basically, they suffer an awful lot for their “art.”

And now they want the rest of us to suffer!

So anyway, we’ve got a challenge for you: Take a stroll in our vampy, clean-lined, retro-ish-but-smartly-updated shoes. We’re giving away a $1,000 gift certificate to Barneys New York Co-op to the soul who can bring the freshest language to four pages of our shoe guide.

Ooh! Contest-y!

Lucky’s website has the complete details. There’s also a full list of the words banned from the magazine, most of which we actually agree with. Perhaps we lack imagination, but we can’t imagine using “kooky”  to describe a pair of shoes that anyone would want to buy— and what is the point of Lucky if not to entice women to spend? Here’s the list:

adorable

bling

fashionista

fave

fierce

flair

funky

groovy

indulgence

kooky

run, don't walk

shopaholic

the final word in

whimsical

food references used to describe a nonfood item (as in "a delicious shade of pink")

Entrants must fill in captions on four pages of the shoe guide, and the deadline for submissions is March 3. We’re already dreaming about adding -y  to nouns and -ish to adjectives!

Lucky's Taste Too "Rich" For Us

We’re becoming the very thing we hate.  Sure, we detest it when Lucky refers to something as “statement-y,” but at least we don’t talk like that, right?  Wrong!  This weekend, we actually used the term “suit-y.”  Aloud.  To another person.  For no discernible reason when other perfectly legitimate words would have worked.  We know, we know.  Either it’s an occupational hazard or we’re subconsciously assimilating.

Anyway, for a long time, we weren’t particularly bothered by Lucky’s frequent use of the word “rich” because, you know, it’s an actual word.  It popped up a few times in each issue, but it wasn’t nearly as egregious as “flea market-y” or straining to be precious like “MySpace-ish.”  But a few of you wrote to us about it, because it bothered you.  And the more we thought about it, the more we began to wonder.  Maybe “rich” wasn’t as innocent a descriptor as we assumed.  What if “rich” was a value judgment?  And, really, why should it matter if our clothes look pricey (even—or especially—if they weren’t)?  Style isn’t dependent on looking like you’ve spent a fortune on your wardrobe, or at least that’s what we tell ourselves every time we line up for the dressing room at H&M.  Still, we decided the word had the potential to be rather insidious—especially when attached to items we couldn’t afford.

So we were eager to check out the text in the July issue.  Once we managed to stop mentally adding “with a knife” to every Vanessa Minnillo quote (“…but the truth is, I always get a second opinion before I take a big risk.”  A big risk...with a knife! Oh, we amuse ourselves so much!), we counted how many times the word “rich” pops up in product descriptions.  Is there a correlation between the use of “rich” and the price of the items?

From “Style Spy,” page 54:

These pared-down sandals and clutch have a hard-edged-but-rich look that really works.

Perhaps rich isn’t much of an exaggeration—the chain-mail clutch is $198 and the shoes $375.

And then, from “The Season’s Best Looks for Under $100” on page 123:

Finish it all off with a rich, insanely plush bag.

Well, we don’t know about “insanely plush,” but it is only $48.  It wouldn’t pass as one, but it is blatantly inspired by Chanel’s quilted leather bags, leather woven through the chain strap and all.

And the third mention, from “Night and Day” on page 128:

The perfect rich-and-glowy, sexy-yet-flattering blouse: It adds a ladylike glamour to rock-star accessories and skinny, shiny trousers.

We assume that “rich-and-glowy” here means shiny, because this whole outfit reflects enough light to attract bugs.  And the price tag?  $210.

So our data remains inconclusive as to what “rich” really means to Lucky.  In all three of those instances, “sumptuous” or “high-quality” could have been substituted, but instead, they used a word commonly associated with material wealth.  But in reading every single description in Lucky, we did find one word whose meaning—and relation to cash flow—was clear.  The item in question?  A $498 pair of Louis Vuitton sneakers.

A classic shape—in the most upscale satin-and-patent combo imaginable.

We were thinking more along the lines of outrageously pricey, but upscale?  At least we know what that means—it’s code for “unjustifiably expensive with a fancy label attached.”

What do you think?

InStyle Invents the Worst Word in Human History

We’ve previously lamented the recent penchant for adding a –y to transform a noun into an adjective, but as it turns out, we hadn’t seen anything yet.  This month, InStyle used a Sandra Bullock profile as an opportunity to create what is, by far, the worst amalgamation we have ever seen.  And we read every word of Lucky every month, but at least their made-up words don’t evoke mental images of anything other than an angry Noah Webster.  See for yourself:

From March’s “What Sandra Knows” by Phoebe Eaton:

But today, even in jeans and a ponytail and boots dusty from a nearby construction site, Bullock is still so…sexpotty.

Sexpotty?  Sexpotty? Did no editor see a problem with a word that manages to convey a squirm-inducing combination of sex and a first-grader asking the teacher for a hall pass?  And, sure, we realize some people enjoy the, uh, sexpotty, but we’re absolutely certain that’s not what Eaton is talking about here.  We’d like to think we aren’t likely to encounter a more appalling imaginary word any time soon—but then, we haven’t even cracked open the March issue of Lucky yet.

Previously: Sandra Bullock faced off with another magazine writer.  Think There Are No Stupid Questions?  Think Again, Glamour

Jane Reveals Starlet's Beauty Secret, Own Penchant for Cloying Language

From Jane’s “Primp,” December/January:

Laid-back makeup artist Fabiola created three looks to sexify your winter rut.  Her A-list clients (like Mischa Barton) will prob’ly want ’em, too—just a twinsie warning.

A “twinsie” warning?  Oh, right, because it’s the makeup that keeps us all from looking just like Mischa Barton.

Lucky Progress Report: Now Even More Incomprehensible!

To: Lucky

From: Glossed Over

Re: Your progress with the English language

Last month, we discussed your penchant for making up words (which is completely unnecessary, as you’re inventing constructions when words that mean the exact same thing already exist).  Now that you’ve had an issue to consider our suggestions, we wanted to follow up on your progress using commonly accepted American English terms.

First, while the cover didn’t include any freshly invented words, it didn’t exactly inspire confidence.

Grey’s Anatomy’s Katherine Heigl spills her fashion secrets

We understand there was absolutely no way to avoid that double apostrophe.  Obviously, there were serious considerations preventing you from saying something less awkward like, oh, “Katherine Heigl of Grey’s Anatomy,” and thereby sidestepping that quandary.   We can’t think of what those might be, but we’re sure you had your reasons.

Unfortunately, our dismay didn’t end there.  Below, in alphabetical order, is the list of dubious words sprinkled throughout the January issue.

‘50s-ish

aromatherapeutically

chainlet

drapey

fashiony

foresty

Frenchy-chic

gleamy

lipsticky

MySpace-ish

partyworthy (We freely admit to nitpicking here.  “Party-worthy” would be our preference.)

rain-foresty

suitish

un-makeupy

vintagey

zhoozh

We’d especially like to discuss the final entry on the list.  What is this word and what could it possibly mean?  How many editors looked at this and decided it was perfectly comprehensible to the average person who doesn’t actually work at Lucky?  Let’s take a look at the context:

We keep this in the beauty department at all times for last-minute volumizing: Flip your hair over, spritz a few times, and zhoozh with your fingers.

That doesn’t exactly clarify this strange word apparently invented in the heat of a hair-volume emergency.  Is zhoozhing like scrunching?  Is it distributing the product through your hair?  What else could you do with your fingers in this instance? 

We’re stumped.  Perhaps the staff should consider including a Lucky-specific glossary in each issue. Or perhaps it would be easier if we simply give up trying to read the small amount of text in each issue.  From now on, we’ll just stick to the pictures.