A difference to the human race…

–Princeton, Avenue Q

Like so many wide-eyed college students, I decided that the ‘practical’ degree was not for me. I had no intentions of going to med school, which is to the benefit of the general public, and I certainly wasn’t about to take any more math than absolutely necessary. No engineering for me, Mom and Dad, even if you do get set up with interviews through the university. I was majoring in English.

I often lament this rebellion when I look at my checking account. Unfortunately, my other rebellious idea was to move to New York, so being young and broke has taken on an entirely new meaning altogether.

As jaded as the most expensive place in the country has made me of late, I like to pause and reflect on what I can do when I feel like my degree is nothing more than a large receipt with a FINAL SALE stamp on it.

1) Write a book. Everyone with a lit degree is urged by their non-bookish friends to write the next great American novel. This is one of few opportunities to boost your ego by using your liberal arts diploma as a foundation, so please, take advantage and modestly say, “Oh, I’m okay” when you’re introduced as a writer at parties. (Said writing does not guarantee getting published, but hey. It’s a start.)

2) Live the life of a human thesaurus. I probably get four emails/phone calls a week asking for a better word than what a friend of mine is using. See? Maybe you know nothing about actuarial math, but at least you can articulate your ignorance beautifully.

3) Join the Grammar Police force, which justifies your anger when you see typos in an email. Or my personal favorite, the emails where you are addressed by your first name, misspelled, when your email address is actually just your name at an address. Are people really not able to read it??

4) Roll your eyes after a movie and sigh, explaining to whoever accompanied you that “the book was so much better.”

5) Bust out your stellar vocabulary in conversation and remind everyone that while you may not make the big bucks, you’re a walking wealth of knowledge.

6) Become a starving artist… by working in media. You have to pay your dues with a salary that’s almost laughable to start, but eventually, in 3-5 years, you may be able to support yourself. Part of the starving artist mentality is taking a second job, like, say, freelancing. Take a breath and remember you’ll survive, at least your work sounds interesting.

7) Get thee to a graduate program. No one wants to crush your hopes and dreams in undergrad, but you’ll realize a year or so after you graduate that passion can’t always pay the bills. You can join all the frat boys you graduated with in taking the LSATs, try and re-learn basic math for the GRE, or throw yourself completely out of your element and go for the GMAT so you can go pursue an MBA and go on to wearing a suit for your 9-to-5.

Any other ideas? Please share with us!

Among the accusations are that the magazine’s editors could really use a thesaurus (the words ‘elegant‘, ‘gorgeous‘ and ‘sophisticated‘ appear 8, 9 and 12 times respectively in January’s issue), that they insist on adding -y to the end of pretty much any word (retro-y really just means the same thing as retro, ladies…), and my own personal favorite, the abuse of the ‘_____ just screams _______ construction, i.e. “This little sun dress just screams French Riviera in June!”

Does it? Does it actually scream? I don’t want a screaming sun dress.

I think Jezebel is totally on-target here. The magazine is poorly written and shamelessly devoted to convincing women with average incomes to spend their hard-earned cash on overpriced items they don’t actually need. I t’s the embodiment of our consumer-driven culture–no love advice or human interest stories here, just pages and pages of things. Shiny pretty things with big big price tags.

So why do I love it so much?

Since the magazine began, I have shelled out my hard-earned cash ($2.99 per issue) to flip through their pages and gawk at $385 toggle sweaters or $3,295 “menswearish” watches. Can I afford a $3,295 watch? Obviously, no. But now I will be on the lookout for a cheap mens watch next time I’m at my local thrift store.

There’s also something refreshingly honest about a magazine that bills itself as “the magazine about shopping and style“. Flip through any issue of Glamour or Elle and look closely: almost every page is trying to sell you something. Lucky cuts the crap and tells you “here are some pretty things, you probably want to buy them”.

If you’re smart, you don’t have to go out and purchase that exact item (thus blowing your entire week’s paycheck on one pair of shoes), but instead you can use the magazine like your own personal stylist, taking inspiration from the combinations they put together and getting your own version, custom-tailored to your budget. I’m sure some of you out there have a little extra cash to spend at that exclusive boutique, some of us love our chain stores, and some may spend hours scouring the local second-hand bins.

So there you have it. My name is Sarah, and I’m addicted to the gorgeous, sophisticated and totally consumer-y Lucky Magazine. Although maybe I’ll buy the editors a thesaurus for Christmas.