Cosmo Makes Me Stupider

I’ve been reading Cosmo for a really long time—which is surprising since they’ve pretty much been putting out the same issue for, I dunno, ten years. The Cosmo Karma Sutra, X Number Of Tricks To Really Make Him Hot… it’s just the same thing over and over again.

By Candy

Don’t get me wrong—I learned a lot from Cosmo when I was 15. Blow jobs—straight from the pages of this soft porn bible. And my gay friend Dave who taught us tricks on popsicles one summer night. Oh, those were the days.

Being older now, I kind of despise Cosmo. I hate all the sexual stuff and a lot of times I find myself thinking—aren’t women more than this? I mean, obviously we all think about guys (probably too much), but enough is enough. Can’t we talk about things like… politics, or even music that isn’t straight from American Idol? Why does the book excerpt have to be from a romance novel? I would even settle for simple chick-lit above the “he rubbed his rugged hands over my soft perky breasts as I sighed deeply in ecstasy.” Blech.

But I feel like Cosmo has reached a new low. In their new “exclusive Cosmo game,” Boy Toy “our cute sweet guy exists solely to serve you. That’s right, you control what he does, and if he keeps you happy, then you win points in the game. Watch out for the skanky ex-girlfriend though!” Um, gag me.

First of all, this game takes the IQ of a goldfish to “play.” You click different locations for your boy toy to walk back and forth between. And the amount of times my character sent homeboy to the bar? I like to have a few cocktails, but I would be hammered if I drank like that. I think paint drying on a wall is more entertaining than this game. There will be no ownage here. You will only feel stupider for playing it. Is stupider even a word? See… I’m now stupider.

But what really takes the cake for me is the questionnaire at the beginning. You tell them your name, then you tell them what you would rather be named. I like my name just fine, thank you. Way to promote self confidence, Cosmo! Don’t believe in yourself—just make up an alter-ego! Next you tell them your dream name for a boy toy, the name of the sleaziest guy, and the skankiest girl you’ve ever met. I picked Derrick, and Erica (stupid sleaze bag and skank!). Just so you know.

Then they tell you this like oh-my-gosh awesome story about some dream guy named whoever who lives to serve you and is at your beck and call. Then it talks about how skanky that girl is, and how sleazy that guy is. It’s like, oh-my-gosh, so fucking dumb. I hate to curse, but it can not be expressed any other way.

I’m no die hard feminist, but I do believe that I can be challenged waaaaaaay more than this. Cosmo, keep the blow job tips in there for all those 15 year old girls out there who don’t know what to do with a penis, please. Occasionally, even I learn something new from the sex stuff. But please don’t ask us to turn off our brains, and make our dream some computer man walking back and forth to get us more and more wasted so we can have drunk sex later.

You know what that’s called all you 15 year olds out there? Really bad decision making.