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I recently had the good fortune to sit in a minivan with a group of fellow professionals as we drove for three hours through the Berkshires in Autumn Splendor on our way to a project meeting. There was coffee. And bagels. And lots of talk. Lots. All the way to the meeting. The meeting. Lunch. And three hours back. Talking all the time. Eight hours in all.
Now I have to tell you some things about us. The first is that we have been professional peers for many years. Some would say seasoned. The second is that we are all past fifty years old; some, WELL past. Of the group, I suspect I was, in fact, the YOUNGEST (how often does THAT happen). Okay, the third may be the most important: all the others were women.
Although we all did our share of talking, I was at the periphery. I am not imagining this either. These women had a greater bond with each other, even though I have known some of them much longer than they knew each other. They were, to use computer jargon, on a different OPERATING SYSTEM. They KNEW how to talk to each other.
Look. I am not an innocent. I know there are differences between men and women. But it took eight hours in a minivan to show me that I have no idea how deep those differences run.
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There is a magazine I see at the impulse-rack at the grocery store called Real Simple. The cover speaks of calm. Even the typography. Hold a National Enquirer next to Real Simple to see what I mean. There is something about its cover presentation that appealed to me so I bought it. On impulse, just like I was supposed to. That was six months ago and I have been buying and reading it ever since.
Needless to say, I like this magazine, but I am more puzzled by WHY I like it than I am pleased by reading it. There is a lot not to like here. For example, I keep telling myself that any magazine that weighs in at over two pounds twelve times a year cannot call itself Real Simple. Then there are the ads. Don't get me started.
But well into my second issue, I realized something that gave me pause. This is a GIRLS magazine. When I mentioned this to female acquaintances, they rush to defend it: no, it's not! There are all kinds of gender-blind offerings in its pages. Maybe so, but I have NEVER discussed reading Real Simple with any other male. And I never will.
Let's clear the air right here: it IS a girl's magazine. Men don't read hints on clothes: how to make a single article of clothing seem appropriate for Work as well as for Party afterwards. Men don't need hints on how to shorten your morning bathroom time (although I do think there is some merit to using shampoo from your hair washing to also shave your legs... clever, man). Men don't need hints on how to make the perfect table centerpiece, or reduce holiday stress, or stretching exercises, or......
as I told a good friend (a woman, of course): Men's Lives are already REAL SIMPLE.
In my reading, I have actually come across a few things I find useful. Did you know, for example, that the best way to grille chicken is to put it on indirect heat and just leave it for 40 minutes? Period. Did you know that sheets with over 400 thread count FEEL better? They do. And now, knowing this, I have a hard time sleeping in sheets with fewer threads, AND I am looking forward to buying and testing 800 thread count. I also find the health articles interesting and sometimes useful.
The amount of useful information I have found, to be sure, is scant for my already-simple life. Still I read on. Intrigued. It took the ride in the minivan to tell me why.
What I am seeing in the pages of Real Simple is the map to the American Woman psyche. It is the source code for the Operating System. It says: Here are my stresses, my anxieties, my self-doubt. Here is where I want to Improve, where I can Do Better. Here is How I relate to my closest friends (example: be careful whom you take shopping; some friend's affirmations of your purchases are merely reflections of their wishes). And, of course, Here is How to Cook (a strategy for modular meal planning), How to Decorate, How to Look (a strategy for modular wardrobe).
Real Simple is not the only women's magazine, of course. But think about it. It is the first (in my experience at least) to talk to the gamut of women's issues so indirectly. Who, really, believes in the Cosmo Girl? What is there, really, to learn from Ladies Home Journal (or, more aptly, what man would EVER be seen buying a copy?), and is Vogue even written in the same language I can read? The default is Real Simple, obtuse, seemingly neutral, tasteful, calm.
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I think about what I have discovered and I am struck with a bit of sadness. That a major segment of our society is compelled to strategize so. To agonize over the seemingly trivial.
But then I think of a statement by Camille Paglia which posited if women had been in control from the beginning, we would all still be in mud huts. Real Simple sheds light on another hypothesis: it is the women who plan, who have developed the syntax to speak easily with each other (without resorting to sports), who actually stress out over the Traditions that define our culture, who give logic and structure and, yes, predictability to our daily routines.
Thus armed, I prepare for my next minivan ride.
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November 2006
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