While waiting for my lunch in a restaurant downtown I start looking at the magazines placed on a side table. I know that I’m not the target group for Cosmopolitan. From first to last page it’s about self-actualization. How I can build up a wardrobe that’s both classy, but also trendy and feels like 2018. Clothes that reveal skin, but not screaming desperate, trashy or slutty. Clothes for party, but also relaxed gear for cozy time in the sofa. They provide inspiration for naughty but nice underwear in Fifty Shades of Grey theme and guide to the best (most expensive) up- & coming designer hand bags. They give me input on how to get flawless skin, glowing tan, long eye lashes, plumping glossy lips and the latest must-have wax look. Already now I need to call my bank for a loan, and I’m only on page 33! I'm also advised how to choose a perfume that aligns with my inner rebel. The magazine continues with more fashion spreads, but I cannot stop to think about the skinny, fragile and pale models that have to starve and/or puke up their last low-carb, raw food, clean-eating meal. Then it’s an update about eating eggs and how I should avoid too much cholesterol, how to HIIT workout at the gym to unleash my fierce Kardashian’s bottom and a short pep-talk about that I can achieve much more than I think. I get a long lecture about no-filter make up and how to boost my CV. A crash course in app dating, how I can climax my sex life with three new hot sex positions that are going to make my boyfriend never want to let me go. A holiday guide to Australia, Cambodia and Namibia, decoration tips for a strong power-female kitchen and how to make creative Poké bowls. The food decoration will probably take about 4-5 hours to do, but it's worth it, since apparently you also eat with your eyes.
For a short while I’m happy to be 40-year old man, until I open the next magazine in the pile. It is Men’s Health and I realise that it is just same same, but different.
No matter who I am, I can do/be/look better.