A Terrifying Journey through Cosmo

Before boarding a short flight, I did what I imagine most twentysomething women do: I bought a glossy magazine, Cosmopolitan. I’d never read it before — not even the battered and outdated copies at the nail salon — but I’m always open to in-flight entertainment and suggestions for my ever-growing lip-gloss collection. After I merely glanced at the headlines tucked between the seemingly endless advertisements for jewelry and body washes, it became clear that I wasn’t being offered harmless suggestions for a stylish wardrobe. For just $6, I had purchased a morally corrupting poison.