COSMO, MUM?
Vanessa Raphaely on going from magazine editor to children’s author
THE underwear department of Woolworths is an unusual place to experience a career-changing epiphany. But it was there, while dragging two non-compliant under-10s around the aisles, that I realised my days of editing a glamorous women’s magazine were most probably at an end.
As I stumbled through the lace and lycra, juggling groceries and handfuls of post-partum push-up bras, wiping noses while trying to stop my children handling the lingerie with their sticky, Marmitey paws, I collided with two gorgeous 20-somethings. Beautifully dressed and immaculately made-up, they were a walking embodiment of my magazine’s dream readers.
In fact, it turned out they were readers. Sort of.
“Wait!” One said. “You! You’re . . . her? Aren’t you? You’re the editor of Cosmopolitan? What’s her name?” She flapped her hands (perfectly manicured) and rolled her eyes. “Pnina Fenster?!” “Er no.” I said. “I’m not.” “No!” Said the other. “You can’t be! You’re too old! And anyway . . . Pnina wouldn’t have children!”
“Ha ha,” said the first. “Sorry. But you should take it as a compliment! Editors of women’s magazines are so well-dressed and you’re . . . well . . . You’re a mom.”
In circumstances like that, I find it advisable not to attempt to explain or defend myself or even own up to being myself. My best and only option is to smile weedily and hobble off to the frail-care floor of the home for badly dressed moms.
But while I’ve aged out of my ex-career, my
My best and only option is to smile weedily and hobble off to the frail-care floor of the home for badly dressed moms
passion for and interest in the wellbeing of women of all ages has never faltered. And in the years since I vacated the editor’s chair, I’ve watched the pressure on women grow. T used to be that exposing oneself to the world of glossy, improbably ageless celebrities, seemingly perfect skinny models, expensive cosmetics and clothing was a choice.
The women who bought women’s magazines did so freely, because they enjoyed and sought out what those titles had to offer. In the content produced by the best magazines, their readers continue to find a pleasant balance of fashion, beauty, celebrity and fine, responsible journalism. I’ve always believed, and still do, that the frivolous and the serious can (and should) co-exist happily.
But these days, magazines are no longer the sole or even dominant voice speaking to or for women.
Social media has made wannabe-Kardashians out of every woman’s friend, acquaintance or random stranger. Recently a teenage girl told me, “It’s actually easy to get hundreds of likes on Insta. Just post a picture of yourself in a bikini. But only if you’re pretty, and thin, of course.”
Another teen girl said, “Everyone I know is on anti-anxiety drugs or meds for depression. But we’re all getting along much better because of them!” Social media of course, are not to blame for every current ill, but it would be hard to find one psychologist who believes they’re purely a force for the good.
The fact that the overwhelming ubiquity of handheld devices has tracked this alarming increase in youthful sadness is surely proof enough of complicity. A recent National Health Service study in the UK found that 28.2% of young women aged 16-24 have a mental health condition.
The gender gap with regard to mental health is growing as well, as 19% of girls report panic disorder, anxiety, phobia or ob- sessive compulsive disorder, compared to 12% of young men.
When it comes to body image, in girls the pressure and the pain start unbearably young. A survey in the US by the National Institute on Media and the Family, which focused on girls from nine to 10, found that 40% had already tried to lose weight. By the time they were 13, 53% of the girls surveyed reported unhappiness with their bodies. This grew to 78% by the time they reached 17.
Of course no mere children’s book can even begin to change or blow away this cloud of sadness and cruel self-judgment hanging over our girls. But researching the issue for some work I was doing on teenagers made me think that an opportunity did exist, perhaps, to try and help mothers talk to their daughters early, really early, about the painful societal pressures they both experience. Hopefully with tenderness and humour. So I thought of a warthog. As one does. ER Majestic Highness Pincushion, African Warthog Princess of Rains, Plains and Sky Above, is a little pig with big dreams. She is also a “bold, brave Princess Adventurer”. I hope, as she grows, that she will become a role model to many humans.
The first book (aimed at seven- to 11-yearolds of all ages), was published last month. After discovering Instagram, Pincushion is inspired to experience all the glamour and excitement of the big city. Buoyed by her adventurous and somewhat rebellious spirit, she goes on safari to Johannesburg, where she encounters an over-enthusiastic beauty saleswoman at a mall.
She is told, with great enthusiasm and conviction, that she needs to deal with her “flaws” immediately and urgently. Her weight, her face, her body — not one part of her is spared, as “solutions” and “interventions” are suggested. Pincushion is polite and would never hurt anyone’s feelings, but she is wise and has enough selfbelief to know this superficial value system based on plastic “good looks” is misguided and harmful. As she says, “If I stay around here any longer and listen to anymore of this . . . dung . . . I might become sad. And I am a happy pig!” This little lesson is one, I think, many of us (apparently more sophisticated animals), could benefit from hearing more often. Even from a warthog. The next book, to be published early next year, deals with loneliness, alienation and the horrible feeling, common to so many children and adults alike, of “not fitting in”.
I’m currently writing the third story, about mansplaining, male privilege and bullying. (It’s actually fun, despite that unpromising list of Trumpisms, I promise.) Pincushion’s wonderful illustrator, Karen Vermeulen, and I hope, through her particularly quirky view of the world and her thirst for discovery and adventure, to tackle many more relevant and resonant issues in future books.
I hope Pincushion will grow to be an encouraging, funny voice that mothers will use to teach their children to believe that the world is theirs for the taking and that it is, indeed, a beautiful place for girls. But most importantly, I’d like to help mothers tell their kids that they are lovely. Because they are, no matter how many or how few “likes” their pictures get on Instagram.
‘Princess Pincushion’ by Vanessa Raphaely, illustrated by Karen Vermeulen (Art Publishers, R140), is in bookstores now