I’d listened to friends pan the magazine Real Simple for months, but I managed to remain unbiased enough to find the cover photographs in the checkout line somewhat refreshing (in contrast to the tabloid headlines and the astrology/weight-loss/recipe booklets). Perhaps I was just reacting rebelliously, but I became determined to not only buy a copy of Real Simple, but to read it with a formidably gaping mind.
I did just that and retreated to my reading spot when I got home. The first feature I flipped to discussed the art of choosing comfortable, though sexy, shoes. Most of the shoes pictured had at least 3-inch heels (the Vittadini suedes and Ann Taylor leathers stand out in my mind) and looked as though they required an entirely new wardrobe to match them. These were not simple, comfortable shoes. Sexy, maybe, but I know what constitutes simple, comfortable shoes. I own three pairs of Birks – sandals for summer, a dress pair, and clogs for winter – and some tennies. That’s it; but I suppose my small sentence on simple shoes would be about 2,000 words short of Real Simple’s required article length.
Other areas of advice in this magazine I found to be downright insulting. “Check off your personal essentials. Then, when you go shopping, just take the list with you.” Eureka – take a list. The lesson here was to purchase items such as perfume, dental floss and a folding mirror not for the bathroom at home, but as office supplies. Eureka, again. Twenty-eight new ways to clutter up your desk at work.
Perhaps the most offensive line in the entire magazine, for me, was its weak stab at political commentary: “Don’t like live political coverage? Maybe you’re approaching it wrong. Think of the Oscars without the dresses.” The gist was to approach the upcoming party conventions as more drama and showmanship than a civics lesson. Forget about the issues, you mindless bunch of confused women: simplify your political experiences by keeping your eyes peeled for celebrity stump appearances. Not the most productive article in the magazine, I’m afraid.
Or was it? Consider this jarring sentiment on mixing/matching clothing coordinates: “You can never have too many black pants.” Now, at the heart of the simplicity ethic is the concept of paring down. Eliminating waste, clutter, excess. The truth is, you can have too many black pants. This truth is not, however, reflected in Real Simple, which showcases an editorial support for abundance that, as you’ll see, doesn’t stop with black pants.
“If you own too many panties, camisoles, and demicups to fit in one or two dresser drawers,” reads another article, “take your storage system to the next level: Buy a lingerie chest. Or two.” Or two? The one pictured at the column’s right, a minimalist “Stickley,” sells for $1,774. All that, for the simple problem of too many panties? Sheesh.
But therein lies the rub: this magazine is not about simplicity at all. It’s about minimalism. Yes, there’s a difference. Minimalism is a style, a rather expensive and conspicuous standard of style. Sleek lines, geometric forms, judicious colors that suggest anonymity and an impersonal feel. Minimalism in the home is the aftershock of an artistic movement: it’s about aesthetics, not ethics.
A simplist, for example, would never have too many panties, whereas a minimalist would happily store her overabundance of panties in a smooth, unadorned mahogany lingerie chest with a single orchid bending gracefully out of a green clay pot, perched on top. See the difference?
Like most other aesthetic women’s magazines, Real Simple feeds our sense of fantasy rather than reality. This is not a collection of articles to help you live a simpler, improved life. It’s a collection of easily held opinions belonging to people with lifestyles you can’t afford. Some women seem to crave this sort of fantasy diet; looking at women who are too thin, wearing clothes that are too small and cost too much money, cooking recipes too high in fat for men who are home too many hours of the day and children who are too clean on the cheeks and knees. Such women as these might enjoy Real Simple, but I’m apparently not a member of its target audience. Nope, not me. I’d rather read about the 41 uses of vinegar than about how to fashionably store 41 pairs of coordinated panties.
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