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Not-So-Sweet Seventeen
An analysis of the popular magazine from an astute 16 year old young woman. 
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/hannah-weintraub/notsosweet-seventeen_b_1224310.html?ref=media&ir=Media
Seventeen Magazine is the bastion of stereotypical teenage girl-dom. Need advice on hair, boys, clothes? Just flip open a page and, like the fairy godmother turning Cinderella into a princess, you too can be so magically transformed. But, just like Cinderella, the magic of the magazine only lasts for so long and, until your next issue comes, you will inevitably turn back into the sad toad that Seventeen believes you truly are.
I've been disillusioned by Seventeen's pixie dust more times than I would like to admit. Something about its sure-fire, "We've got you" attitude makes the magazine's advice hard to ignore. Seventeen is like a well-intentioned friend. It concocts advice that makes us raise our eyebrows but, more often than not, these words of the "wise" are such a temptingly simple fix it's hard to resist it. A recent 25-step flirting plan suggested, among other things, that girls "Linger for three seconds when you hug him" and "Don't just say you like his shirt, say it looks good on him." The advice may be met with initial skepticism, but when it is given as part of such a concrete plan and when other sources for guidance are hard to come by, it's hard to pass up.
What scares me about Seventeen is that its advice is not only dumb, but it often sends girls the wrong messages. Next to pages on body confidence are reams of paper explaining how to fix your flaws. I remember reading through Seventeen thinking, "Am I supposed to feel insecure?" Magazines like Seventeen manufacture self-doubt so girls will buy the quick-fix products that are so conveniently displayed on the glossy pages.
Teen magazines' conflicting message of body confidence mixed with the incessant dwelling on remedies for insecurities left my middle school mind in a perfume-induced haze. I felt fairly confident about who I was, I could play piano and get good grades, but magazines like Seventeen didn't seem to value any of those undertakings. The magazine stripped me down to my outer appearances and let my personal accomplishments wash down the drain. Now, it wasn't as if Seventeen was ruining my life, but it always seemed that upon the arrival of the magazine, my self-confidence would slowly begin to erode. I would collect up the pieces of my self-worth only to have the hazardous publication come at me like a wrecking ball. Lucky for me, my self-confidence often acted like a shield against the fiery, Seventeen dragon. I could fend off the blasts of self doubt-inducing flames that Seventeen spewed at its readers. But for girls who lack that armor of self-assurance, the insecurity I felt after reading Seventeen must have been even more unbearable.
...
Seventeen Magazine is the bastion of stereotypical teenage girl-dom. Need advice on hair, boys, clothes? Just flip open a page and, like the fairy godmother turning Cinderella into a princess, you too can be so magically transformed. But, just like Cinderella, the magic of the magazine only lasts for so long and, until your next issue comes, you will inevitably turn back into the sad toad that Seventeen believes you truly are.
I've been disillusioned by Seventeen's pixie dust more times than I would like to admit. Something about its sure-fire, "We've got you" attitude makes the magazine's advice hard to ignore. Seventeen is like a well-intentioned friend. It concocts advice that makes us raise our eyebrows but, more often than not, these words of the "wise" are such a temptingly simple fix it's hard to resist it. A recent 25-step flirting plan suggested, among other things, that girls "Linger for three seconds when you hug him" and "Don't just say you like his shirt, say it looks good on him." The advice may be met with initial skepticism, but when it is given as part of such a concrete plan and when other sources for guidance are hard to come by, it's hard to pass up.
What scares me about Seventeen is that its advice is not only dumb, but it often sends girls the wrong messages. Next to pages on body confidence are reams of paper explaining how to fix your flaws. I remember reading through Seventeen thinking, "Am I supposed to feel insecure?" Magazines like Seventeen manufacture self-doubt so girls will buy the quick-fix products that are so conveniently displayed on the glossy pages.
Teen magazines' conflicting message of body confidence mixed with the incessant dwelling on remedies for insecurities left my middle school mind in a perfume-induced haze. I felt fairly confident about who I was, I could play piano and get good grades, but magazines like Seventeen didn't seem to value any of those undertakings. The magazine stripped me down to my outer appearances and let my personal accomplishments wash down the drain. Now, it wasn't as if Seventeen was ruining my life, but it always seemed that upon the arrival of the magazine, my self-confidence would slowly begin to erode. I would collect up the pieces of my self-worth only to have the hazardous publication come at me like a wrecking ball. Lucky for me, my self-confidence often acted like a shield against the fiery, Seventeen dragon. I could fend off the blasts of self doubt-inducing flames that Seventeen spewed at its readers. But for girls who lack that armor of self-assurance, the insecurity I felt after reading Seventeen must have been even more unbearable.
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