Now, on a totally unrelated post (I am queen of the tangent, you have been warned), last weekend I started what I would call a 'magazine purge' -that is, getting rid of a number of old issues of my beloved titles-, and I realised I might have a problem.
Hello, my name is Detoured and I am addicted to magazines.
In the meagre 5 months that I have been living here, I've amassed the grand quantity of 25 magazines. All the 'Reds', 'Livingetc' and 'EasyLiving' from August onwards, a couple of 'Real Homes', 'Delicious' and 'inStyle' plus 10 copies of a variety of Japanese glossies which of course I cannot read, but really, who cares? They're so beautiful.
And here I think this is where the problem lies. Besides actually reading said magazines, although 'flicking' is more appropriate in most cases, I put my hand in my heart and admit that in the end, I buy them just because they are beautiful. The main culprit is photography, I think. Gorgeous shoots populate these magazines. Lovely colours, stylish styling, if that doesn't sound too bad. They feature beautiful clothes and make up and furniture and dishes, but what I like the most is the way they are photographed. Yes, I do read some of the articles but they are not the reason I buy the magazines, at least not the main reason.
I've studied communications in university and have always worked in communication-related things, so the notion that an image attracts our attention faster is not new to me. In my case, I have to say that it is not just any image. It has to inspire (and transpire) beauty. Well, my concept of beauty at least.
I often say to Mr M, as he humours me whenever he sees yet another pile of glossies that have somehow made their way into our home, that magazines are my therapy. Some people go to shrinks, I buy glossies. They give me a high and take me to pretty-land. There are few things that are more appealing to me than sitting down with some coffee or tea and a pile of mags to flick around while wrapped in a duvet with some soft music in the background. Each lovely photo and amorously laid out page is pure happiness. Each shiny page complete and beautiful fantasy.
My love of magazines goes back to prehistoric times, when I used to buy comic strips when I was too young to even be able to read them. But it's only in recent years, that this addiction has really blossomed. So much so that I find it very hard to actually bring myself to throw away some when the time comes to make space for new ones. These 'purges' are painful, I tell you.
This last purge I mentioned earlier ended up with maybe five issues sent to magazine heaven and about 10 used to raise the head of Bibu's cot, so his snotty nose (no metaphor here) can drain better during the night. So a bit of recycling, really.
And on that note....