I love Heat. I have loved it for years. I enjoy nothing more than settling in for a good poo, with a sparkly new copy of Heat telling me everything I need to know about Taylor Swift’s newest conquest. Like most people, I lose interest by the time we get to the beauty section, but I love to read all about someone I don’t know from TOWIE showing their pants on their way out of Sugar Hut.
Why do I like this? I am not a brain dead idiot. I am a well educated woman.I have even been know to hold my own in a conversation about which politician is the biggest arsehole. I can actually do long division. I’ve read some Thomas Hardy and everything. But I love Heat. I love Heat as much as I love Swiss Roll and Babybells. I love Heat like I love sitting down to an old Episode of Death in Paradise, you know the ones with Ben Miller. I know in my heart that all of these things are a bit shit, but I just cant help myself.
So what’s the problem?? Well that is two-fold. Firstly, I am about 4 stone overweight and sometimes suffer with terrible anxiety related to how socially unacceptable it is to have an arse the size of 2 pre-schoolers hiding in a blanket. Yet I read a magazine which measures the success of Victoria Beckham by the size of her waist, and tells me that a pregnant Kim Kardashian is a terrible spectacle for us all to behold. It probably isn’t much good for my self esteem. It is probably sending subtle messages to my subconscious mind that the cellulite on my thighs make me a terrible person and that if Jay-Z cheats on Beyonce, what hope have I got of keeping my marriage together?
So the second prong on the fork of the problem is as follows. My nearly 5 year old daughter. She can read very well for her age. She has started reading the Heat magazine’s which are left in the bathroom. On reflection this probably isn’t a good idea. I recently found her staring at a double page spread featuring a still from Kanye West’s video Famous. Her thoughts regarding this were, “what’s an orgy?”, and “where are everyone’s clothes?” and “that lady has a funny bottom.”
She makes some sensible points.
I don’t want her to know about the existence of Kim Kardashian. I don’t want her to know that you can have sex with someone on a video, have an unusual bottom and get rich. I don’t want her to think that fame can make you a more worthwhile human. I tell her that the most important thing is to be kind. That doing your best at school will mean that you will be the best that you can be. That as long as she always tries her hardest, we will always be proud. That nice things happen to nice people. That if you can’t say something nice, then don’t say anything at all. I tell her these enormously positive things, and then I gorge on shit celebrity news about a selection of people who I am lead to believe are not very nice /clever/ principled/ honest/ thin / fat/ ugly/ worthy. I read journalists slagging celebrities off, for slagging other celebrities off. I remember that Joey Essex has built an actual career on being stupid.
By now, my self esteem is probably a lost cause, but she is lovely little sponge of hard work, brains and motivation. I owe it to her to give her the chance to appreciate herself and others for having the right values. And if we’re listing values, unusual bottoms probably don’t feature.
PS. Other gossip mags are available, I have also been known to devour a Now quicker than a cheese sandwich. They are all essentially the same, but lets be honest, Heat is the funniest.