Disclaimer: The names of any actual magazines have been withheld to protect the vain and grossly underweight.

This is going to be my last "Fat Chick" article. You know why? Because I've discovered the secret to flatter abs in just 5 easy moves. Once I turn off my stress hormones and take the supplement most women are lacking in their diet, I should be able to blast my love handles and boost my metabolism with blueberry and broccoli smoothies. I figure once I drop 30 pounds by summer and fit back into that bikini, it'll be silly to call myself the Fat Chick anymore. Maybe I'll just entitle my articles "Musings From The Writer Formerly Known as the Fat Chick".

Of course, all of this will have to wait until I try out the recipes for triple chocolate brownies and almond cheesecake on the page right after the diet secrets of the stars. But trust me, Beyonce's cayenne pepper colonic is slated for first thing next week.

During the course of doing research for this article, I picked up several fashion magazines to page through. The 87 subscription cards and 15 perfume scented flaps made this impossible. Once I pick out that first card, I either pitch it or use it as a bookmark. Rarely ever do I change my mind six pages later and think to myself, "when I pulled the card out on page ten, I really didn't care to subscribe, but wow – the last twenty pages were so incredible, I've changed my mind. Thank God there's another subscription card on page thirty. As soon as I get done rubbing the perfume card from page twenty-four on my wrist, I'm going to fill this sucker out."

Once I managed to make it past the cards, I still had to wade through thirty pages of ads to get to anything. It's like driving onto a parking lot and pulling down an aisle where all but the last two slots are handicapped spaces. Those glossy pages further slowed down my progress by sticking together. I had carpal tunnel syndrome by the time I made it to the table of contents.

One heartening thing I saw in the multitude of beautiful head shots, was that a cute little mole on the face is still in. (Thank you Cindy Crawford.) I happen to have such a mole on one side of my face. There's another dark spot on the other side, but my doctor told me that's likely a skin tag. Okay, a mole is cute. A skin tag is this icky thing that grows on you when you age. My story is I have two moles and that's what I'm sticking to.

Seriously, enough's enough with these models. Close-ups of one woman at a time is bad enough, but do we really need six women standing around in their underwear? Forget for a moment that women rarely ever stand around in packs, wearing just a bra and panties. They certainly don't stand around in such ridiculous poses. It looks like they're having trouble balancing on top of their impossibly long legs and for some reason, it's throwing their hip joints out of alignment. I decided to see if such a pose would make me look sexier, so I tried it in front of the mirror. Not only did I not look sexy, I'm pretty sure I pulled a groin.

I like the clothes layouts. Sometimes the clothes are empty and laying flat on the backdrop. Sometimes there are emaciated models wearing them. I'm hard pressed to tell the difference. Lay it flat or put it on Kate Moss. Whatever.

Despite being an avowed tomboy, I appreciate that women love to look at fashion photos. But honestly, will any of you wear most of these ensembles? As near as I can tell, the clothes break down as follows:

20% looked like leftovers from an 80's Duran Duran video.
5% made the model look like a poodle.
15% looked like underwear.
3% looked like someone mugged the lion tamer at the circus and stole his pants.
2% looked like they were made with fabric from my grandma's couch.
5% looked like a Jetson's cartoon.
10% seemed to be missing half of the material.
1% contained parts from the engine of a car.
5% looked like a shower curtain. (The pretty transparent kind.)

Admittedly, the rest were pretty cute. I just don't care to take out a home equity loan to buy a purse. My criteria for clothes is very simple: It has to cover my stretch-marks, my cellulite and my lower back fat.

Personally, I have a theory about fashion designers: They actually hate women and secretly delight in seeing just how outlandish their clothes can be. Slap some motorcycle handlebars – side-view mirror and all – onto a poofy, black leather jacket, charge $10,000 for it and watch wealthy women knock each other over to get at it. Pretty funny stuff in my book.

Once in awhile, you will come across an article of substance. One magazine had an article about saving the planet. Hmm, make-up's biodegradable, isn't it? Okay, enough about the planet. What I really need to know are the latest summer colors for pumps.

Aside from fashion and beauty, we all know the other reason women love to pick up these magazines. The advice; in particular, the sex tips. I find this rather dubious though. Exactly how many ways are there to drive your guy wild in bed? I highly doubt there are really more than five, and three of those involve ESPN® and a can of beer.

The most useless thing to put in print are the tips for how your guy can satisfy you. It doesn't do any good if your guy doesn't actually read women's magazines. And if your guy is reading women's magazines for advice, I have some advice for you and you may not like it.

Maybe some of the advice is useful, or at least well meaning. But some of it is just downright ludicrous. One magazine suggested it might be a real body booster if you recited a love poem to your love handles. I decided to write my own. It's called "Dear disgusting blobs of goo." It didn't make me feel better.

Another article advised you to have a favorite inspirational phrase put on a coffee cup at work. Sounds like a lovely idea. It made my coworkers a little nervous though, when I showed up with a cup that said "Tick me off one more time today, and you might just end up being a funny smell in the trunk of my car tomorrow."

Occasionally magazines try to be scientific. Did you know that men can prevent pregnancy by wearing polyester underwear? Apparently something about the material renders them temporarily sterile. Might I add that another good way for a man to prevent pregnancy is to wear a polyester pantsuit? This is guaranteed to render a man temporarily unappealing to women in the first place.
I managed to pick up some good tips for choosing the perfect bra. Did you know that your breasts can fluctuate in size and position every six months? I can understand the size part. My waist does that every other day. But position? What does that mean? "Well, one day, I woke up and my left breast was on the side of my hip!" Seriously, I'm fairly certain my breasts only have one position. And that would be pointing due south.

One magazine even has a dream dictionary. You can actually log on and have your dreams analyzed. I'd like to know what it means when I dream that I'm sitting in the middle of the office, naked, dipping little pickles in crunchy peanut butter and then throwing them at management. Is that a sign of lack of respect for management, or a fear of little pickles?

Somehow, these magazines create the illusion that they will help us improve our lives. Maybe in some ways, they can. Make-up does make you prettier. But then again, most women don't have professional make-up artists applying it. Give me some expensive oil paints and I'm not going to be able to paint the Mona Lisa. Perhaps certain clothes do flatter your figure. But it takes an eating disorder to make it fit the way it does on the page. Who has the money to pay someone to follow you around with a fan so your hair can always have that windblown look? In the end, the main thing that stands between you and the fashion models is a little thing I like to call Photoshop. Send me a photo. For a little bit of money, I'll remove your zits, whiten your teeth and shave a little off those thighs. I'll even through in the fan for free.

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© Beth Wiesemann. No portion of this article may be reproduced without the author's permission.