Points of View

I recently got food poisoning and, in the throes of despair, I began to wonder if I needed to go to the hospital. So I did the first thing that popped into my head: I called my mom, told her what was going on, and asked her to tell me what to do. She calmed me down, but once I recovered, the whole incident had me thinking – at 27, shouldn’t I be old enough to stop calling my mom every time I have a problem?

And I don’t even live at home, as plenty of my friends do. At our age, most of our parents were married with children, working at the same careers they have now. They were independent adults, who probably just called their parents to say hi, not to unleash a litany of life problems and ask for advice and/or money. Are we just feckless? Sometimes it sure feels that way.

On the other hand, our parents had it a lot easier in some ways. No one, for example, was asking them to do skilled work for free under the guise of an “internship.” Housing prices hadn’t yet skyrocketed. The societal pressure to get married and start a family meant it was easier to find a life partner who was willing to commit. Come to think of it, all my friends who live at home aren’t doing it for funsies, but because the current economy is terrible, jobs are few and far between, and, somehow, living at home has become the responsible adult decision, even if responsible adulthood looks very different than once it did.

Maybe our thirties will be like our parents’ twenties.

Leila Cohan-Miccio 

Remember the heady days of the early 2000s, just ten years ago? Reality TV was just starting to become A Thing and the word “blog” was just entering the lexicon. Yes, it was a more innocent time indeed. Today, reality shows account for what seems to be upwards of half of all television and everyone and your mother has their own blog.

Reality television and blogs have more in common than meets the eye. On the surface, both allow us a window into the lives of others. Whether it’s the schadenfreude engendered by watching a Teen Mom marathon or the train-wreck fascination of reading the blog of a high school acquaintance you always hated, the voyeurism can be addictive.

But there’s a more sinister side to the similarities between reality television and blogs. Reality television is cheaper than scripted shows, but it’s also not as good. We like The Bachelor as much (okay, more) than the next person, but it’s never going to hit the emotional highs and lows of The Wire, or even Cougar Town. Similarly, it’s fun to click around The Huffington Post, but it’s not exactly offering the journalistic excellence and integrity as the New York Times.

Unfortunately, both scripted shows and legit news media seem determined to sink to the level of reality television and blogs: witness the Times increasing focus on hyperlocal blog sites like Fort Greene Local and the increasingly cheap look of most television comedies. We can only hope this trend reverses itself. In the meantime, we’ll just be sitting here, suffering some major early 2000s nostalgia.

One of our many pet theories is this: despite living in the busiest, most exciting city on earth, New Yorkers are constantly trying to figure out how to spend time at home. Alone. Witness the casual interaction between two friends, both of whom want to bail on drinks that night to stay in and catch up on old episodes of Parenthood.

“It’s so rainy, I don’t even know if the subways are running, but I can come out.”
“Oh no, I wouldn’t want you to go to the trouble. We can just do it next week.”

This urge for solitude violates all New York’s societal expectations. We’ve all watched Sex and the City (and hell, even Seinfeld): New York is supposed to be about socializing! Hanging out with friends! Going on dates! It’s enough to make you deny those nights when you do give in to your desire to spend a Friday on the couch with your dates of Mssrs. Ben and Jerry.

To make matters worse, this loner-guilt is exacerbated by a very practical difficulty: how can you deny your Friday plans in the world of constant social network monitoring. Going off the grid used to be as simple as letting your phone go to voicemail. Now, the dedicated loner must remember to keep off Foursquare and resist the urge to tweet, tumblr, or Facebook their feelings on the reruns on their television. It’s all so exhausting that you might as well just go out.

I’m a dedicated browser of magazines in the grocery store checkout aisle and so we feel pretty qualified to report: Cosmopolitan headlines are getting stupider. Just this month, all-caps letters screamed EIGHT THINGS YOU MUST TELL YOUR GYNO. I refused to open the magazine and read the list, but we have our speculations:

1. You look great today!
2. Ugh, don’t go see Country Strong. Totally not worth it.
3. This season of The Bachelor is really good.
4. I have recurring dreams about the Natural History Museum.
5. I have a great recipe for vegan chili!
6. Saks is having a crazy sale right now.
7. Oh god, I’m so hungover.
8. I have genital herpes.

But Cosmo doesn’t stop there! Other headlines are just misleading. A few months ago, the cover invited me to learn about THE NEW DRINK THAT COULD KILL YOU. Spoiler: it was binge drinking. That is neither new or, strictly speaking, a drink.

Perhaps the worst-ever Cosmo headline, though, came last year when the magazine apparently decided that its constantly-recycled sex tips (tie a scrunchie around his penis! Pop a mint before oral sex!) had lacked background information. So as to help readers understand how everything starts, the cover helpfully advised “FIRST, TAKE HIS PANTS OFF.” Oh, so that’s been the problem! Thanks, Cosmo!

An earnest plea to Cosmopolitan and its ilk: women are smart. Stop pretending we aren’t with headlines that insult us. Or keep writing those headlines: insulting or not, they’re the best entertainment in a checkout line.

Leila Cohan-Miccio