Ugh

Yesterday - or the day before, or even the day before that (jet lag makes me confused) - I bought the Australian newspaper and found, slipped within its pages, one of the most loathsome magazines I've ever come across. The name of the magazine (to quote the White Knight) was Wish:

Wish had taken upon itself the task of compiling a best dressed list for 2011:

Number one on the list was Sarah Murdoch, who doesn't dress badly. However, to describe her thus:

is really a bit rich. For 'sophisticated media and fashion power player' I think many readers would substitute 'attractive woman who married extremely wealthy son of Rupert Murdoch, thus ensuring prominent media position despite almost unforgiveable televised gaffe'.

However, to be fair, Sarah Murdoch does at least dress reasonably well, as I said. Below her in the list, things go to pieces on the aesthetic front, I reckon:

If there are really only ten men better dressed than No. 11 and only three women better dressed than No. 4, this, it seems to me, is not a vintage year.

But tastes differ, of course. Surely though few would disagree that this next paragraph is a load of unspeakable twaddle:

And when the magazine tries to persuade us that this person, who has a really extremely idiotic hairstyle and an apparent inability to do up his shoes:

is, as they put it, 'a man with innate style':

and that this person is 'starkly stylish' (a slightly overweight, bald man in a jumper, black jeans and some gym shoes?):

I begin to wonder if I am inhabiting the same world as my fellow human beings.

Turning the pages I discover as well that, in Milan (where style permeates the streets, apparently):

(and, incidentally,' there's more to style than being fashion forward', which is lucky for me, since I have no idea what 'being fashion forward' means):

Armani's new collection is turning heads. Although the clothes are not elegant it is not surprising this is happening. Just look at this weird outfit:

and these extraordinarily frightful trousers:

I think the odd head might turn even in places not permeated by style, eg Queanbeyan or even sophisticated Civic, Canberra, if a gent appeared as nattily decked out as that.

I am then confronted with a further sickening effort to con me into believing my own life is not good enough - this attempt to undermine confidence seems to me to be the major thrust of modern marketing. It is clear that I should be investing my energy in trying to 'hightail' it to places of great exclusivity:

where I could meet pert little chaps like this:

and discover the secret places that  'only the cool people know about':

I wish magazines like Wish didn't exist - or at least that they weren't given away without any warning to innocent readers like me (although I suspect they have to be given away as no-one would willingly buy this garbage) and I'm glad I found a terrible typo in this edition. The staff at Wish may think they're the kings of style, but they have no grasp for detail, as you will see here (although is it possible it's not a typo but some kind of hip joke? Oh dear - see how these things erode commonsense?)