For nearly eight months now, I’ve been working in the women’s fashion magazine industry here in New York City. It’s a strange place to be for a fellow from the great state of Alabama, but hey, it’s a living (almost).
Many of my friends from Alabama have asked me what it is that I do for these magazines. Basically, I can tell you that an office is an office whether it’s in Covington County or Manhattan.
But there are some things that set my job apart from working at, say, the Stucky’s on 1-65.
Naturally, working for one fashion magazine dictates that I read all of the fashion magazines. I read about a dozen per month.
And I’ve learned a lot.
I know things about women that no man should know.
I used to be a guy that pretty much stayed in the “Car & Driver” genre of magazine reading. If I was really desperate in a doctor’s office or something I might read “Smithsonian Magazine” or the like.
Like most males from Alabama, the thought of flipping through one of the big three: “Harper’s Bazaar,” “Elle,” or “Vogue,” made me slightly nervous.
Those days are over, ah youth …
The first thing I noticed about the fashion magazine business is the strange preoccupation with naming things funny.
For example, I expect that there are scant few mea out there who can tell me what color “Monteil Paris Couleur Continuelle Lip Buff Creme Gloss in Nacre” is. Why the company doesn’t just say “Red Lipstick” is beyond me.
Brothers, let me tell you that women must have a Ph.D. in this stuff just to be able to turn on the makeup mirror.
So as your “Andalusia Star-News New York City Correspondent,” I took it upon myself to interview Start Figura, a top beauty editor at one of the nation’s largest magazines.
Q: “Starr, for those women down in Andalusia, Alabama – where I hear it’s hotter than Vince Foster’s briefcase what sort of beauty regimen do you suggest?”
A. “Where is Alabama again, mon petit chou?”
Q. “South, lady, way South.”
A. “Oh yes, Andalusia – that’s in Madrid somewhere, ne c’est pas?”
Q: “Close enough. Now tell me what you think Andalusian belles should adorn themselves with?”
A: “Well, the day should start with an Alpha Hydroxy Bath and Loofa sponge with a light bath gel on a delicate poof. If she starts with Dead Sea Bath Salts, she should follow up with a balancing touch control glycogenic rubbing compound.
Then, darling, moisturize, moisturize, moisturize.”
Q: “But the humidity is around a billion percent in Alabama?”
A: “In that case, you’ll need thermal activity setting spray or some sculpting whip hair coif paste. Then an oil-free liquid foundation with protozoic life forms. translucent lipstick in camillia with SPF 10. brow enhancing liner, moisture tint, replenishing powder makeup, lip concealer pencil in bashful Buick, eyecolor eyeshadow duo in heavenly ski slope frost, eyebrow bush brow pencil, Paris street stripe eyeliner, lash-out super ridiculously lengthening mascara, bistro burgundy blush, and perhaps some rice paper to blot all the sweat in that heat.”
Q: “That sounds like a lot of work.”
A: “We haven’t even gotten started. They’ve got to blend, blend, blend mon petit ami — it can’t look like they’ve got on any makeup at all.
The natural look is in, in, in, Cherie.”
By this time I was thoroughly confused. Men are generally straightforward in naming what we put on our person. I suppose, however, that it would sound less than glamorous to describe what a man wears on a daily basis.
I doubt any fashion crowd would go wild over my daily regimen: “Morgan is wearing Dial soap and some Speed Stick deodorant. He washed his hair with some generic shampoo and then splashed on some cologne because he was feeling fancy. It took him five minutes to get ready today.”
Another problem with my entrance into this “chi-chi” world is that everyone up here seems to speak half in French and half in English. I call it “Renglish” or “Franglais” depending on which language I’m using.
If you ever want to speak to fashion editors, here are a few easy, half-English, half-French phrases to use that I’ve conveniently translated into Alabama English: That dress has a certain je ne sais something.” (It looks weird.)
She is a femme from l’enfer.” (She is less than pleasant.)
Je ne sais pas.” (Do what?)
Donjour, darling.” (Hey)
“Qu’est ce que ca peut me foutre.” (This is the “Frankly my dear …” Rhett Butler speech.)
I have found these to be very effective in my impersonation of a fashion magazine employee.
The articles are making me a bit nervous as well: “Are you fat?” “Thirteen Ways to Look Younger Now,” “Nose Jobs: The Good, The Bad, The Botched,” “Confessions of a Diet Addict.”
If I followed all their advice I’d be a broke, well-traveled, 99-pound, day-glow colored, single reader who knew how to break up with my girlfriends and still be friends and how to solve my split-end problems. Frightening, isn’t it?
Women of Andalusia – don’t change you’ve got these New York femmes beat by a country mile.