http://www.cosmopolitan.co.za http://www.cosmopolitan.co.za http://www.cosmopolitan.co.za http://www.cosmopolitan.co.za/images/cosmo_logo_toolbox.gif Money en-us catherined at cosmopolitan dot co dot za Copyright 2009 http://www.cosmopolitan.co.za//CosmoWorld/EdsLetters/funny-side-up
By dessert, naked artworks have been admired, tales of dancing girls on tables in Zimbabwe and family quarrels have been recounted and poetry has been recited. We’ve all eaten, laughed and drunk way too much.

Then the finale: the Von Arnims’ infamous party trick. Both father and son can deftly circumcise a Pierre Jourdan bottle, separating cork from neck in one elegant slice. With a sabre. No matter how plastered they are.

Grateful to be able to leave with body parts intact, we all part the best of friends, but not before Von Arnim Jr informs me how pleasantly surprised he was to have enjoyed our company at all. He didn’t expect to have much in common with any of us, he says, and was fearing a dismal and boring lunch. Ouch! Someone we didn’t know assumed he wouldn’t like us? Or yay! When he met us he decided he did? How does a girl take this kind of backhanded compliment?

Well, in my opinion good food and wine exist to bring people with little in common together in a spirit of jollity and bonhomie. So, I decide to take the comment as I always do, with a sense of humour. A girl can’t go through life with an intravenous drip of Haute Cabrière attached to her arm to anaesthetise her against the slings and arrows of a world where not everyone thinks she’s marvellous.

A couple of weeks ago I experienced the joy of being attacked online after writing an opinion piece in a newspaper, many of whose readers do not really
appear to love this magazine. The experience reminded me that, no matter what you read in fashion magazines, your only must-have item is a very thick skin. If you create something that some people love, it goes without saying that other people won’t. Attempting never to offend, or always to please everyone, is the route to true insanity and misery. But you might be called on, occasionally, to stand up and defend what you stand for.

There is nothing like getting up close and personal with someone or something that you assume you won’t enjoy, to discover how you truly feel about them. I am clear that COSMO is not for everyone and am happy with that. It has always been 100% for its readers, which leaves very little space on our radar for attempting to please its detractors. Our job is not to convince people who don’t get it, to get it. But you know, if someone had told me I would have really enjoyed the company of two sword-wielding, pole-dance-picture-taking, 11.30am-drinking eccentrics, I might have thought, as Takuan von Arnim initially thought about me, ‘Perhaps not.’ On the surface we don’t have much in common, and if I had decided to be judgmental and he had decided not to be open-minded we might indeed have had a miserable lunch. Instead, everyone had fun.

So here’s to open minds and open hearts; to the desire of very different people to find common ground. Here’s to the very South African spirit of making friends by clinking glasses filled with a beautiful Cape wine.

Here’s to all of you who remind me every day why we dedicate our working days to making this magazine. And here’s a personal, heartfelt thank you that the Von Arnims - and not those angry COSMO-haters - were brandishing the swords....

]]> Wed, 28 Jul 2010 12:00 +0200 http://www.cosmopolitan.co.za//CosmoWorld/EdsLetters/bafana-republic
The super-respected model manager Marlon (another South African gone stellar) once told me that the reason for Candice’s huge success was not only her jaw-dropping good looks but also her very good manners and sweet nature. Even more reasons to be proud.

Years and years ago, one of our then fashion editors shot her for a COSMO cover. I, displaying my customary cluelessness with regard to all things fashion, proclaimed that she had ‘funny eyebrows’ and spiked it. I have not, it transpires, got infallible judgment.

I also decided years ago that COSMO’s very brilliant assistant editor Cathy Lund was ‘not the right person for the job’. She was only snatched from The Sunday Times because our then deputy editor saw her value and talent, ignored my opinion and hired her. I have loved being proved completely wrong in my initial assessment of Cathy since the second time she walked through the door.

So what can I say I’ve learnt from my missteps and misjudgments? A few things:
1) It isn’t necessarily a disaster if you make a few errors of judgment along the way. No-one is always right.
2) Life can be generous and might give you a second chance to correct some of the mistakes you make. (Sometimes you will have to trust someone else’s judgment over your own.)
3) And, sometimes, timing is all. There couldn’t be a better month to run Candice Swanepoel’s first COSMO cover. It is a unique moment for all of us – a month in which we are duty bound to have the time of our lives! It is a rare gift to be offered such an opportunity, and perfectly timed for most of you, the COSMO crew who are living one of life’s most precious periods – your fun, fearless 20s.

So, no bitching and moaning. No negative anything. You have the opportunity for the party of a lifetime, right here, in our cities, on our doorstep.

The Sokker Wêreldbeker (I’m not sure what I am allowed to call it without FIFA chopping off my head) is here – the time has come for us all to get into our Bafana Bafana colours, paint our faces and blow those vuvuzelas. (Look how cool Candice looks decked out in SA’s colours - you could join her!) We have so much to celebrate about our beloved, badly behaved home, which remains beautiful, hopeful and able to pull off miracles.

Your task for June? Drink it in, party like it’s 2010 and share a little love with the world. Although not, of course, the traditional COSMO-type love. Save that for the bedroom with a loved one. To that end, we’ve included some sokker-inspired sex positions. We can’t help it, we’re proudly COSMO to the core!
]]> Mon, 21 Jun 2010 12:00 +0200 http://www.cosmopolitan.co.za//CosmoWorld/EdsLetters/16-cosmotastic-facts-from-delhi
1. The tribal dress of the international COSMO editor is a killer blow-dry, excellent lipstick and heels at least 10cm high. (Fact.)
2. If COSMO readers formed a country, it would be the sixth biggest in the world.
3. UK COSMO’s most successful recent cover line was: ‘How to hide hangover skin.’
4. The UK’s favourite cover girl ever was Cameron Diaz. The question that Louise is wrestling with? Who is the new Cameron D?
5. Kate, the editor of US COSMO, is taking her edition in a ‘more edgy, more rock chick’ direction.
6. COSMO Netherlands editor Claudia says that sex doesn’t sell that much over there. What sells? ‘You, you, you!’
7. One in every 12 lipstick applications in the UK is applied by a COSMO reader.
8. In the Phillipines, readers want to be ‘fashyon’ (which seems to mean – translated loosely - fun, fearless, fashionable).
9. COSMO Malaysia’s editor, Izza, can’t show images with cleavage in the magazine (she retouches it out). Or armpits. Or shoulders.
10. Payal, the editor of COSMO in India, has to give sex tips to readers who cannot have sex ... anywhere. They live with their families. He lives with his.
11. Lala, editor of Spanish COSMO, has the longest legs, the highest heels and the shortest skirts. And she is super bright - COSMO to the core.
12. In US COSMO, any piece on gynaecology gets an 80%-plus approval rating, according to their research.
13. Bronwyn, the editor of COSMO Australia, is the authority on body love. (Not just the sexy kind, ‘the healthy body, happy mind’ kind.)
14. Violeta (love that name) says our covers rock Lithuania, where she is editor.
15. If you ever get lost somewhere scary and messy in Delhi at night, you want the Greeks and Cypriots (fun, feisty, fearsome) by your side.
16. And, although I loved meeting, reconnecting, eating, drinking, laughing, learning and sharing with the sisters from all over the world ... there’s no place like home.
]]> Mon, 21 Jun 2010 12:00 +0200 http://www.cosmopolitan.co.za//CosmoWorld/EdsLetters/to-helen-with-love
He had the most glittering of careers, made an enormous contribution to the universe and was always a consummate gentleman. Without David, there would have been no COSMO as you all know and love it. He convinced HGB that she should approach Hearst to suggest making the content of her best-selling book, Sex And The Single Girl (Four Square), into a magazine. The rest, of course, is publishing history.

David loved, respected and supported his wife in every meaningful way, even writing all of the cover lines of US COSMO while Helen was at its helm. Theirs was one of the great love affairs of the last century.

I have always been more than grateful that life threw me at Helen’s feet. However, after my mother exited this editor’s seat and appointed me to replace her, Helen, I think, felt less than lucky.

In the early days, I was a youthful combo of ignorant and arrogant, and thought I knew best. But she was always a lady and I learnt more from her when she was irritated with my mulishness than when she was not.
Here’s an extract from one letter she wrote me. In her unique style, naturally.

‘Dearest Vanessa, I think we should possibly let up on you producing COSMO in its pure original form. As I have said until you are probably getting bored, the magazine belongs to you and you probably know what is right for your constituency. I would love COSMO to be more of a magazine of real help for your young reader, and there is some in the mix. Just not as much as I would like. Since there is almost no way you can protect yourself I would like to make some comments that I think are common sense rather than kvetching.

‘I feel you have too many articles that are negative.... I think some things in your COSMO tend to depress or discourage rather than cheer you along... Some of your pictures are boring and obvious ... I wonder why women would want to look at men who are ugly? I always think pulchitrude should apply to somebody you’d actually like to crawl into bed with.

‘Page 89 is a real turn-off to me. It says nothing! Page 97 and 98, ugly pictures! I always found that gorgeous sold the magazine. Vanessa, I probably won’t comment very often, because of the special relationship I have with your mother, but once upon a time she thought American COSMO was the best thing she ever saw and that’s why she wanted to start the magazine in South Africa and did. Maybe she won’t mind me writing you in this way, never mind whether you mind.’

Ouch.

What do you think I did after I received this (and a few other like it)?

I growled and whined and moaned of course (my blog name is not HurricaneVanessa for nothing), but eventually I realised that the opportunity to listen to, and learn from, a genius is a rare and precious gift. And then I grew up. My inner seven-year-old (rebellious, individualistic, stubborn, tempestuous) went to puppy-training classes and I emerged the better – both as a person and as an editor – as a result.

Though I can’t offer the wisdom of Helen Gurley Brown to all of you, I can send her much love and wishes for strength on your behalf. Then I can direct you (and your inner child) to ‘The Seven Year Hitch’ on Page 88.

I do hope Helen approves.
]]> Thu, 22 Apr 2010 12:00 +0200 http://www.cosmopolitan.co.za//CosmoWorld/EdsLetters/a-cosmo-fairy-tale
‘Go out!’ said her wicked-but-sensible Fairy Godfriend. ‘Break some hearts! Get your hair messed up! Think like a man. Nothing serious. No fantasies of relationships or marriage and babies. Just go and have fun!’

‘I’m ready,’ she said, and wriggled into a skinny-mini dress and whisked out to a party, where she met a charming, solvent friend-of-a-friend.

Who panted around for a bit, like a puppy with a new toy, then asked for her number …and called! ‘Can you believe it?’ she said. ‘What now!?’

Her cellphone rang again. It was her lovely unicorns-and-rainbows Good Fairysister, bursting with advice and excitement: ‘Don’t sleep with him until the 12th date, whatever you do. Men are hunters! Show some decorum – do not listen to that wicked Fairy Godfriend! If you sleep with him he won’t ever respect you again. It’ll be over before it’s even begun!’

‘Bollocks!’ said the wicked-but-sensible Fairy Godfriend. (This is a COSMO fairy tale. There can be adult language.) ‘You want to have some fun! You are sensible and a grown-up. Do whatever the hell you want!’

So, clever COSMO girl that our princess was, she listened to her wicked-but-sensible Fairy Godfriend and went out and tousled her hair. When she was ready. When she felt the time was right for her.

Which was just a little sooner than her unicorns-and-rainbows Good Fairysister felt comfortable with, but ... our princess did not turn into a frog. And her maybe-prince did not disappear immediately in a puff of smoke. Chances are they will both live happily ever after. Maybe not together.

Who knows? Whether you are ‘good’ or ‘bad’, whether you sleep with a man on the first date or after date number 27, there is no guarantee that anything you do will make a man do what you want. And who wants to make a man do, think or feel what you anything?

Sometimes it pays just to have some fun, and see where that, plus a light touch, takes you. Without hating yourself the next day. Matters of the heart involve risk. Human beings are unpredictable. Be good, be bad - just be sensible. Be careful and make your decisions based on whatever seems right for you.

A good man (a real prince, if you will) will love your independent spirit and your powerful sense of self. As you should too.
That is the stuff of happy endings.
]]> Wed, 17 Mar 2010 12:00 +0200 http://www.cosmopolitan.co.za//CosmoWorld/EdsLetters/v-day-for-all I happen to believe that V-Day is perfectly peachy if you are in the first six months of a relationship. Or if you are frisking around breaking hearts and having yours broken. But for longtime couples, February 14 tends to elicit responses ranging from ‘ho hum’ and ‘very nice, thank you, darling’ to a hissing, snarling diatribe against the massive con trick of commercialism that is Valentine’s Day.
While it’s very nice to receive a gift of flowers or perfume from someone with whom you have been sharing toothpaste and a lavatory for years, it does not pack the same emotional punch as a card or rose from a surprising source, a fan you didn’t know you had!
An expensive, lacy piece of something from the lingerie family (a gift for him masquerading as ‘what you’ve always wanted’) is lovely when you’re in the early days of a love affair but, years later, when what you really want is a YSL Roady (a gift for you), it’s not so thrilling. Trust me.
I think the answer to a happy Valentine’s Day is all in the thrill, myself. (I would be beyond thrilled, Guru, with a Roady. I am just saying...). So, if I were single now I would take a chance. I’d probably send the object of my affections a batch of heart-shaped cookies, even though my mother always said not to, under any circumstances. What’s the worst that could happen? You discover he’s not that interested. Is that terrible? At least you would realise that you were up a dead-end, and instantly stop wasting your time and move on.
Men come and go but time is finite. You do not have masses of it to waste on one who ‘isn’t that into you’. You’re not sad; that’s sad.
What else to do on and around February 14? I’d go out dancing with my other single girlfriends. I’d stay home and watch three episodes of The Wire, back to back. I’d eat too many chocolates in bed. And sleep diagonally across the bed, if I felt like it. All the good stuff you can’t do when you’re in a relationship.
The Guru has not yet given me a YSL Roady, but he has passed on the odd nugget of wisdom. And one of his all-time greats is this: you do not have to make yourself miserable by wishing for what you haven’t got. Learn to value what you have instead.
So, this February, SGs, that gem is my Valentine to you all: love what you’ve got. Then go looking for love! See you on the dance floor.
]]> Tue, 02 Mar 2010 12:00 +0200 http://www.cosmopolitan.co.za//CosmoWorld/EdsLetters/heres-to-you-ducky Usually, if the question comes from a guy on a first date with one of us, the subtext to that question (evident in the dog-like glimmer of hope in his eye) is this: ‘Oh, God of eternally hopeful horny men, please let me have scored the chick who edits the sex section, oh please, please…’ etc. Many of them, I think, secretly hope for elastic bedroom gymnastics as the happy by-product of dating a COSMO staffer. 
Oh, catch me while I fall off my chair laughing. They should talk to The Guru – he’d put them right in a flash. On our first date, when he asked The Question, I took great pleasure in informing him that, as I spent all day thinking of new names for the same five sex positions, all I wanted to do in my leisure time was discuss politics and listen to obscure German electro-funk.
‘You know what they say about people who talk about sex the whole time?’ I remember saying. ‘That they aren’t doing it? Imagine if you were writing about it all the time, would you want to think about it when you didn’t have to?’ The look of dashed hope on his poor face was pure tragi-comedy.
There is more to COSMO than sex, of course, and being the guide to what to say and do on first dates is only one of the many valuable services we offer.
And when men get over their disappointment at not having scored a nymphomaniac, most of them, I’ve found, enjoy the company of the COSMO crew – whether staffers or readers. Because, of course, COSMO is the bible to a fun, fearless, foxy life. And fun, fearless foxes are generally excellent company.
The real answer to the question is that we get our ideas from thinking of you, about you and for you. You are in our bulls-eye 12/7, for 321 days of the year. (C’mon. Everyone needs a bit of time to listen to German electro-funk and think about nothing very much at all.) And let me say, as we embark on our 26th year together, that thinking of what matters to you has always been a pleasure and a privilege for us. We love our jobs. (Even thinking up names for sex positions. Especially the funny ones!)
We believe that you are the most rewarding community of women in the country and you inspire, encourage and excite us.
Here’s to all of us in 2010. Together, we’re going to have a great one!
]]> Mon, 25 Jan 2010 12:00 +0200 http://www.cosmopolitan.co.za//CosmoWorld/EdsLetters/love-all I consider it seriously for about one-eighth of a second.
Um. I don’t think so....
This is my column! I am in charge, and I think The Guru is better a) being written about than writing about himself, and b) left where he can get up to as little mischief as possible – on his sofa, immersed in his beloved Unfit Guys Cycling In Stupid Clothes Monthly.
On the other hand, we have been together for 100 years and we have shared history. Much of what has happened to me has happened to him, and might make good copy. Yin and Yang. More wisdom from the couch. (That was a really popular editor’s letter.) A man’s eye view! What it’s like to be married to a woman who thinks up new ways with sex positions for a living!
But, after that one-eighth of a second of careful consideration, I am decided: absolutely not.
We have different storytelling styles. My way is a) edited for a punchline; b) carefully crafted to make me appear as wise, witty and wryly self-deprecating as possible, and c) as brief as possible. I am an editor, bred that way. I cannot help myself.
When The Guru tells our shared stories, he a) forgets the chronology, gets side-tracked and, by the end, can’t remember what the point of it was in the first place; b) casts me as the fall guy to his wittier wise-cracking George Clooney; and c) includes embarrassing, exposing, cringe-inducing (not funny!) unnecessary detail.
So he is banished to the sofa, forever. At least in the pages of COSMO, where he will remain blissfully under my control. I do like it that way.
There is nothing more irritating to an editor than to have someone recount a shared story without being able to edit it.
The Guru could win an Olympic medal in being irritating. As I am writing this, thinking about him at his irritating worst, and not being all the other wonderful things he is, I am surprised to feel a warm wave of affection wash over me.
It’s a funny thing, loving someone. I used to believe that to stick a relationship out with any other human being, you made your peace with the stuff that wasn’t pure Prince Charming (did Prince Charming snore?!) and focused only on the positive. But in the end, as he so often says himself, love is a package. You can’t separate the good from the snoring. If he wasn’t Prince Irritating he wouldn’t be him. And my life would be immeasurably diminished without him in it.
BUT. The same rules of healthy love do not apply to COSMO. This issue, like every COSMO, is, we think, The Princess Perfect of Magazines! Not least because of the extras: a spicy selection of sex recipes, the bad boys of the A-list; this year’s truly Fun, Fearless Women and a bumper 48 pages of COSMO Rocks. Nothing but good, guys! Enjoy.
Be safe and happy over the New Year. See you in 2010!
]]> Mon, 25 Jan 2010 12:00 +0200 http://www.cosmopolitan.co.za//CosmoWorld/EdsLetters/the-camels-of-cosmo not exactly Hollywood, although it might be good, dignified work.)
I could carry on in this way but I’d be lying. Some days, like today, I am reminded how much fun the COSMO crew have, while calling it work.
Today, Cathy is nursing a black coffee and a righteous headache after staying out a bit too late last night with local super-band The Parlotones as she helped them celebrate the launch of their new wine label, Giant Mistake. Zelda is buzzing after having spent the past three days on the back of a Harley-Davidson disturbing the peace and exploring the West Coast and Garden Route.
I arrived at my desk this morning to find two review copies of new books I’ve been dying to read, and a brilliant and sexy pair of Reebok shoes to test-drive.
Terrible, awful ways to earn a living, I’m sure you will agree. Shame.
But no-one in our team has it quite as bad as those in the fashion and promotions departments, who are back from sunny, exotic Egypt after the pure hell of shooting the summer swimwear and beauty supplement, which adds an extra 66 pages to this magazine.
It was absolutely backbreaking, terrible work, according to them. They had to grind away, smiling and posing, labouring and sweating in the roasting sun to bring you the gorgeous, fun-filled pictures.
Shame again.
‘Camels would have had a better time,’ they report, with an evil glint in their eyes. I know they’re kidding. Everyone who works on this magazine loves their job, and I believe it shows.
We’ve always had fun putting this magazine together for you – and it’s important to ensure that you all share in that. ‘Fun, Fearless Female’ are not empty words for us – they’re a promise of the life you all deserve, and the magazine that aims to help you get it! Enjoy.

]]> Mon, 25 Jan 2010 12:00 +0200 http://www.cosmopolitan.co.za//CosmoWorld/EdsLetters/all-quiet-on-the-masculine-front ‘Don’t let me down, Dawg,’ I say to him. ‘It’s been kind of tame round here.’
‘It hasn’t been tame,’ he says, ‘it’s just that no-one’s been talking to you.’
He’s not wrong. Good gossip has been thin on the ground and now ... disaster! Now even he, usually my best source, is not about to help me. He tucks into his lobster salad and engages The Guru in a long and dull conversation about the environment and some product he has developed to stop evaporation in Chinese reservoirs. He has nothing that I would call interesting to share with me.
It seems that, though it’s taken a while, he has finally figured out that it’s perhaps more politic just to keep schtum around me – and keep out of print. Perhaps he’s got a new girl he wants to impress, and is trying to reduce damage to what’s left of his good reputation. Or maybe I have just drunk too much of the Glen Carlou Chardonnay, leaving him in the unfamiliar situation of being less drunk and able to make a reasoned and sensible call on how much of his private life to share.
This leaves me in a tricky situation because I’ve got male behaviour on my mind and, as I have said before, The Guru’s guy pals aren’t generally great sharers. In fact, they are the soul of discretion and good manners... or perhaps just preoccupied with what actually does interest them: sport. Now, with the British soccer season and the Currie Cup in full swing, the last thing any of them feels like doing is coming down to Lazari and telling me who has been sleeping, cheating and flirting with whom.
But I’m nothing if not resourceful. I can even make no content content! At the features meeting the next Monday I ask the team whether any of them have better luck getting men to really open up about the what, why, where, how and who of what makes them tick. Because there are some questions that we (veterans to a woman of years on COSMO) would still like answered. For instance, what makes a man notice a woman (in a good way)? What do men really think about women taking the lead? What totally turns them off? And that’s just for starters.
It turns out that assistant editor Cathy Lund has plenty of male writers who are willing to help. And six of them – honest to the point of madness – have come clean about their girl-related behaviour in ‘The dating mandate’ on page 73. Also in this jam-packed issue are nine pages of naked celebrities (just for fun, guys, just for fun) and there’s ZEST – with all you need to know to get your body in shape for summer. There is only one COSMOPOLITAN, guys. Enjoy it!
]]> Mon, 25 Jan 2010 12:00 +0200 http://www.cosmopolitan.co.za//CosmoWorld/EdsLetters/the-slasher-burns Sunday Times Rich List businessman/visionary/blah-blah but now a pretty good novelist too. I am green with envy, as I have harboured a not-so-secret fantasy of writing a novel myself for years. And, me being me, I have only a collection of first chapters to show for my labours.

I'm jealous. But learning of his success also disturbs my equilibrium, in the way that I am always shaken when the tenderly nurtured belief system (based on the wisdom of Hallmark greetings) on which I rely to make sense of a crazy world is tested. In this case: bugger, how can living well be the best revenge for me when he appears to be living somewhat better? I sneak a look at his website and at the profile pictures in a couple of the predictably fawning interviews and even worse, he is more handsome than he used to be. Of course he is. Life, it appears, is not having a fair day.

He is not the only one of my exes who has done well for himself. My good-revenge theory has not really been working well of late. Even the Louis-Vuitton-Iuggage thief is making a movie with Demi Moore. 'You swore to me that he would never amount to anything!' I hiss indignantly down the phone to my best London friend. I have worked myself up into a froth of envy and figure that she, as the co-founder of our book club (called The Unfinished Book Club for obvious reasons), will share my unfriendly sentiments. 'And have you seen all the stuff about The Prince Of Darkness?' I practically spit. 'He's become JK Rowling!'

No!' she trills. 'I've seen nothing. I've been heads down. You won't believe what I've done!' (Oh, double bugger. I know what's coming. Why do I have such a good instinct for bad news?) 'I've finished my novel!' Who was it who said a little part of you dies when your friends do well? As I hear myself applaud and congratulate her, I can't remember. Perhaps it was me...

Et tu, I think, and put down the phone after assuring her that, sure, as I am an excellent editor I will be happy to proofread her book. Sigh.

So. There you are. I'm sure there was not ever much doubt, but I am not flawless. I have the capacity to be an unfriendly little green thing when caught unawares. The POD was wickedly mischievous and not at all keen to settle down, but he was actually a perfectly fun boyfriend while it lasted and he doesn't deserve me to expect him to live a life forever tarnished by my absence from it. Now that my nasty green froth has abated, I discover I am a bit proud of him. And pleased that, although in my wild years I always had an unerring knack for finding men who weren't perfect husband material, they were all interesting, special men.

Perhaps I should get over myself and get on. It's 4.30 on a Friday afternoon in the most beautiful city on the planet; the magazine has been sent off to the factory and the delightful handsomes of D7 have just left after serenading us in our office with an acappella Coldplay song (and red roses). The forecast is for a stormy winter's weekend – excellent weather for getting started on finishing an unfinished novel. Life is good.

http://hurricanevanessa.wordpress.com ]]> Tue, 29 Sep 2009 12:00 +0200 http://www.cosmopolitan.co.za//CosmoWorld/EdsLetters/a-little-crunched Schadenfreude, is one of my worst crunches of all time.

My famous BFF and I are standing at the coat-check counter of a nightclub in London, getting ready to leave. She, who knows and is adored by everyone, bumps into her Best Male Friend, a Major Movie Star, on our way to the exit. In her excitement, she throws her arms around him and her coat falls, unnoticed, to the floor. I pick it up and stand waiting for them to be finished air kissing and exclaiming how marvellous they both are. When they have run out of smoochy superlatives, Major Movie Star turns to me, and I prepare myself for a third-tier, barely polite, celeb greeting. 'Hihowareya' would do. (We have had dinner together twice before this encounter, but in Celebville that's as good as me having waited on his table twice.) But no. 'Oh great!' he says. 'The coat girl. Here's mine.' And with that he dumps a weighty pile of cashmere into my arms and turns his back on me. Fume. Cringe. Get me out of here.

I've never felt the same way about celebs, nightclubs or that piggy Major Movie Star since then. I suspect it's PTCS (Post-Traumatic Celebrity Syndrome) or, as my famous BFF puts it, 'a thin skin and a sense-of-humour failure'.

Is it any wonder, I sulk, that I have always preferred a glass of red wine, a nice wood fire, a yummy book and Van Morrison on the iPod to frisking around celebrity-infested nightclubs with my bullet-proof friends? I have never met Van, and can comfort myself that at least my favourite song of all time, 'Brown-eyed Girl', is a pleasure for always – no matter how dismissive or just plain bum-smackingly rude to lowly civilians, such as myself, its songwriter may be were I ever to encounter him in the flesh.

But no. Thin-skinned, humourless people are not safe anywhere. I read an interview with Van the Man: '"Brown-eyed Girl"?' he says. 'What a piece of crap. I don't get what anyone with taste likes about that song. I've written 300 better than that.'

OMG. Now I am a thin-skinned nobody with no sense of humour and lousy taste in favourite songs?

Sometimes the only thing one can do is quickly get a sense of humour and some perspective. Luckily, none of us have to exist in a world where we are judged only by how nice famous people are to us or how on-trend our taste in anything is. It is our choice to believe nonsense like that has any relevance to whether we are a person of value.

Occasionally, for instance, I watch the most tatty, low-rent crime and property porn on DSTV. Should I wake up at night in a cold sweat of shame about that, thinking my taste in junk TV makes me tatty and low-rent?

It's nuts, this world we inhabit. Superficial, meaningless things that shouldn't matter seem to. Things such as who you know. How you are treated by random people who aren't your friends. Your taste. What you look like. The way you dress. The accent you have. But to anyone who is worth your precious time or energy, none of that snobby rubbish will ever matter.

So, sing along to your most secret worst song as loud as you like, COSMO gals! Wear what makes you happy. Ignore the next person who treats you impolitely. We love you all.
]]> Fri, 21 Aug 2009 12:00 +0200 http://www.cosmopolitan.co.za//CosmoWorld/EdsLetters/a-dogs-life-july-2009
'Excuse me,' I say, 'do you have a dog?'

As a chat-up line, 'Do you have a dog?' is not marvellous, but there is method to my madness – and, as I'm not chatting him up for myself, it doesn't matter if this stranger thinks I'm, er, barking. That he continues smiling and doesn't scuttle away towards the exit adds bonus points. But, tragically, it turns out to be irrelevant that he is polite and smiley.

'Yes!' he says (and I swear his eyes get misty). 'Two.'

I've got one more question: 'What are their names?'

'Kiera and Oliver,' he beams.

'Nice meeting you,' I say, and scuttle away towards the exit. Sometimes life's a bitch. I am on the prowl for good single men for my great single girlfriend and this man, while charming at first inspection, is most certainly not single. I know this because of my practically foolproof method for discovering the relationship status of men with dogs: The Dog Name Test – a subtle and simple diagnostic tool which, because we at COSMO are quite nice ourselves, I'll share with you.

If your potential prey's dog's name is quirky, butch or smart (Kerouac, let's say, or, oh I don't know… Bliksem) then he is single. Proceed! (Although, if the dog's name is as butch as Bliksem or as pretentious as Kerouac, I'd warn you to proceed with caution.) However, if the dog's name is Kiera, or Oliver, you're out of luck. Those dogs are his and his partner's child substitutes. Behind every cute man with a dog with a child's name is a woman, nesting away madly, buying squeaky toys and smelly, chewy kudu hooves, wasting her current favourite children's names, and testing her mate's potential parental skills on a couple of pretend children, aka the dogs.

And, single girls, life is too short to waste on chatting up someone else's man. The world is full of other men just begging to be put through The Dog Name Test. My test's amazing efficacy doesn't end there, though. There's more. Is your potential guy's dog's name Spot or Fluffy or Blackie or Snowy? Unless you want to be someone's stepmother, run! This man has children who are old enough to name a dog themselves. And, if he has no kids, do we really need to warn you about the dangers of dating a man with a dog called Fluffy? Thought not!

All you single ladies, try my test the next time you're out on the prowl. I promise it will work pretty much every time. It will save you time and effort, and keep you focused on a good-guy goal. Don't thank us. We're COSMO, we're glad to help.

But, back to me at the party: so, the guy at the bar isn't single, and I will not be able to drag him across the room like a delicious bone trophy to my oblivious great single girlfriend. The night is young, and I radar the room and spot another man with potential. If I were a dog, my tail would start wagging. Better luck next time, I say to myself. Every dog must have her prey.
]]> Tue, 11 Aug 2009 12:00 +0200 http://www.cosmopolitan.co.za//CosmoWorld/EdsLetters/men-again-june-2009
I open my mouth to answer, but... 'Drogba! You biscuit! Goal, goal, goal!' – the room erupts, and the assembled choms lose interest in me. Who cares what a cranky woman has to say when there are strikers who can't strike without advice from a sofa in Cape Town?

I escape in search of a guy-free spot but find no peace. There is a Super 14 match on in the Sports Café (aka my lounge) and those choms who aren't watching Chelsea in the TV room are camped out there. A happy crew, content that, as long as there is sport on every screen in the house and a constant supply of junk food, all is well in their world.

What's to love?

Well. I do love The Guru. Some of that love is gratitude that he puts up with me. But if I had to do it all again, I'd still choose him over anyone else I've ever encountered. Aaah. Sweet. Or is it? Maybe I just can't be bothered with another male. After all, other males are, right now, turning my home into a noisy, smelly frat house. If this is what happens to all the Prince Charmings after the clock strikes 12, I'll stay home next to the fire with a nice glass of red wine and my broomstick.

But there I go again. Why is my default mode with regard to men to be bitchy?

If I discount the villains (rapists, thieves, con men and leaders of certain political parties), are men that bad? Some are smellier than us. Some are fond of noisy, boring sports. They don't have to get pregnant when we do. They can (and do) date younger women for longer than we are young. And they don't have to wax their bikini lines. Are those character flaws enough to justify me writing off the whole gender? Of course not.

The Guru points out that if we're playing the generalisation game, he could say that 'all women are irrational' and 'illogical', and that is why it's usually better, as a man, not to get too involved with girl stuff and just to watch soccer. 'At least the goalposts don't move,' he says.

There are some other men I do like. There are the husbands and boyfriends of my girlfriends who nurture, celebrate and love them. I adore my two Best Male Friends, one who makes me cool compilation CDs for the car and another who emigrated to Canada, leaving me the keys to a holiday home. I am grateful to Malcolm Kluk for dresses that make me look pretty. I love what William the Pilates Torturer has done to my body – thighs of steel, guys! – even though I'm not crazy about the look on his face when he sticks my leg into the pretzel position. (It reminds me of the Luggage Thief's 'How did I get myself into this position, with this chick?' sex face.) I can't start my day without checking out 2OceansVibe's Seth Rotherham, whose personality type (a combination of obnoxious, smart and hilarious) has always been my weakness. I love male vocalists in rock bands. I admire Jonathan Shapiro. And Tim Winton.

Even Mathew has a GSOH and would happily walk through fire for The Guru, which endears him to me. I stick my head into the TV room. 'Men are fine,' I say.

'I could even be nice about you, Mathew, if you would take your shoes off my sofa.'
]]> Fri, 03 Jul 2009 12:00 +0200 http://www.cosmopolitan.co.za//CosmoWorld/EdsLetters/tell-me-straight-may-2009
Because I usually resemble a bushveld shrub by the time I get around to booking an appointment with HSH, I generally spend hours sitting in his salon while he attempts an Extreme Makeover.

His guy friends, meanwhile, pop in and out at lightning speed. No problem with that. But these friends chat. Who knew straight guys chatted? And skinnered? And shared? Not me. The Guru and his mates aren't great chatters. They merely grunt, 'Any of you okes want another beer?' and watch some more soccer. Which is absolutely the right amount of noise you want to hear from any men after a long day at work.

But HSH and his friends seem to be girls at heart – they love to natter. They show no respect for my plans to have an hour of peace and quiet, reading magazines and listening to HSH's always-calming play list.

As one of my sanity-preserving, cheesy resolutions for 2009 is to turn every challenge that comes my way into an opportunity, I decide that I will listen in and use hair appointments as research for my job. Great! I can have my hair cut during work hours and not feel guilty! So, here is my first nugget from the salon/lab. And it's good… a gold-medal insight into the lives, priorities and passions of men.

Guy A to Guy B: 'So. You ready to pop the question, chom?'
Guy B: 'Hm. Yes. Think so. Maybe. In a while.'
Guy A: 'C'mon! She's HOT!'
Guy B: 'Yes, she is, but, hey, I almost got married before you know.'
Guy A: [In the style of the brunette from Sex And The City] 'No! What happened?'
Guy B: 'She was nice, but she wanted me to buy her a ring!'
Guy A: 'So?'
Guy B: 'I needed a new road bike.'
Guy A: 'Aaaah.' [He lifts an eyebrow and looks empathetic.]
Guy B: 'In fact – you won't believe this, chommie – she told me it was either her or the bike!'
Guy A: 'No! She didn't! What did you do?'
Guy B: 'Jeez. I got a killer carbon-framed Choc of course. Now that's hot.'

HSH switches on the hairdryer, and I hear nothing more.

Sometimes I believe there is a grumpy female God Of Girlfriends Of Men With Obsessive Hobbies. Maybe, I think, she was feeling vengeful on the weekend of the Pick 'n' Pay/Argus 2009 cycle tour. The wind howled. Screamed. The worst South Easter, ever.

'How did Guy B do on the weekend' I ask when I pop into the salon on the Tuesday after the race.
'Blown off his bike on Eastern Boulevard,' HSH answers. 'Massive groin strain.'
I smile and open my magazine.
Enjoy yours! ]]> Wed, 10 Jun 2009 12:00 +0200 http://www.cosmopolitan.co.za//CosmoWorld/EdsLetters/class-acts-april-2009
Perhaps no-one feels this passion more than I do because I, more than anyone, have really lived COSMO – since the launch party 25 years ago (which I, practically a foetus at the time, attended in an accidentally timeless outfit of black lace corset and plum gypsy skirt but sporting the obligatory Very Bad Hair of the period.) That was years before I became editor – years during which I worked in London on the UK edition and, later, launched Zest, my first magazine, as a brand extension. I've had a terrific career, lots of fun and learnt huge amounts on this magazine. Just as so many of you tell us you have had COSMO at your side through each stage of your life, so have I.

I have made many of my greatest friends here: Suzy Brokensha, once deputy editor and now editor of a competing title (take that anyone who still believes that women at work can't be competitors and friends); former UK COSMO editor Marcelle D'Argy Smith, who, more than anyone, understood how to write about women's lives, passions and issues in a way that defied anyone to label them frivolous and yet still made the magazine 'the best time to be had by all'; hilarious former Australian COSMO editor Mia Freedman, now blogger supreme (you've got to bookmark mamamia.co.au.); and our similarly beloved COSMO sister, Kim St Clair Bodden, director of international editions. Then there are the incomparable Jane Raphaely and Helen Gurley Brown – both icons, both powerful role models any woman would be proud to meet in her lifetime. To have both of them on my side has been like winning the magazine lottery, over and over.

And there are the women who have put the magazine together over the years, both before and during my time at the helm: women who've added their talents to the success of the title and gone on to the success they deserve: Sumien Brink, Les Aupais, Cynthia Whalley, Roz Wrottesley, Lianne Burton, Nadine Rubin, Sally Emery, Heather Parker, Elaine Coaton, Kerry Rogers, Jo Springthorpe… oh, and a few good COSMO men: Marc Serra, Malcolm Kluk, Graham Reynolds and the ultimate COSMO guy, Volker Kuhnel – mentor, supporter, visionary and great friend.

There's Glynis Horning – who deserves a category of fabulosity and thanks all her own. There are two truly awesome women who make it possible for me to claim to be a capable editor: Loesje Boyle and Cathy Lund. If you love COSMO, you owe the two of them a debt of thanks. I consider all of us beyond lucky that they have chosen to commit their talents to this magazine. For all there is to know about the beauty business (as well as glamour and gossip!) there's Nicolene Strydom, the beauty editor's beauty editor. Without my partners – Julia Raphaely, Brett Stagman and Rebecca Whisson – there would be no business. And without the graceful, intelligent and loyal Azraa Garnie, I would fall apart and the whole COSMO team would run, screaming, for the hills. I'd really rather they didn't, for each and every name on our masthead is as valued and as key to this magazine's brilliant 25 years as every name that has appeared before theirs.

COSMO has always been a magazine put out by special people for special people. And, you, our readers, have always been the true stars of the show. Thank you for this unbelievable ride. Here's to the next 25 years! ]]> Wed, 10 Jun 2009 12:00 +0200 http://www.cosmopolitan.co.za//CosmoWorld/EdsLetters/rover-returns-march-2009 not to know them.) 'Read this!' he says, shoving his Blackberry into my hands. 'Scroll!'

So I read the exchange of messages and, in the interests of research into the brains of dogs, er… men, will now relay them to you.

Subject line: These foolish things
'Hi Rover. It's Valentine's Day. And I can't help but remember that unforgettable, sexy night at the River Café in Brooklyn 10 years ago. Just thinking fondly of you. S'

Subject line: Confused
'Hi S. Can you clarify? Don't mean to be rude, but I am getting on a bit [he's 35] and I am not sure which S you are.'

Subject line: Samantha
'Remember me now?'

Subject line: More confused
'Sorry. I have 11 Samanthas in my address book. Do you have a surname?'

Subject line: Not so happy
'Rover, you said you loved me. You said you were heartbroken when I decided you weren't right for me. Are you taking the piss? Samantha. Brown.'

Subject line: Erm
'Have you perhaps got married in the interim? Do you have a different name now to then?'

Subject line: Livid.
'I AM married. Luckily not to you. Speak to you in 10 years' time.'

She is lucky. Maybe she drank one too few Manhattans that evening under the Brooklyn Bridge and was sober enough to just say no to him. He is baffled. 'Honestly. I have no idea...' he says. 'She's a bit touchy, isn't she? Anyway, no worries.'

Rover, like many men, is fundamentally a boy who loves to play. Without the biological pressure of our gender's ticking baby clock, he'll probably continue to travel lightly, charm many and forget more Samanthas for a while. Women, I think, are wired differently. Relationships (even the ones that weren't the one) matter more to us, we think about old lovers more often, keep a hold on the memories for longer. Rover (admittedly a rather extreme case) and all the other Rovers are adorable as friends and playmates, but hopeless husband material.

'You're a dog,' I say.

'Let's have a drink,' he says. 'Being terrible is thirsty work.' ]]> Wed, 10 Jun 2009 12:00 +0200 http://www.cosmopolitan.co.za//CosmoWorld/EdsLetters/but-are-they-real-february-2009
Who'd be a celebrity? This admittedly super-hot shot will definitely appear on many of COSMO's international editions and all eyes that alight on it are sure to find themselves drawn… to her rack.

As soon as it popped up on our art editor's screen, a flock of us gathered to discuss it. Are her breasts surgically enhanced? Inflated by sneaky retouching? Are they spookily watermelon-ish or… gorgeous? Is it only me, or are they strangely hypnotic?

We all love celebrity gossip, but, sometimes, when I'm in the middle of dishing dirt ('Will Smith, John Travolta, Tom Cruise, Zac Efron and Robbie Williams are all gay') I feel sorry for the absent star and somewhat shabby myself. How would you like to be a celeb?

Apparently 60% of British teenage girls would love it. That's the percentage who, when asked what they aspire to, say fame. They don't want to be happy, educated or healthy. They don't want to be a doctor, or a teacher. They don't dream of making a difference or finding a cure for the common cold or global warming.

They want to be… famous.

I think they mean famous in the sense of Jordan, the British glamour model, richer than rich for… taking off her top. But maybe they'd like to be someone with a big talent and even bigger set of problems, such as Amy Winehouse? Or maybe they dream of being Hollywood oldster Richard Gere? (A stellar career, a supporting role to the Dalai Lama and a mean-spirited little rumour about a small, furry creature that just won't go away.)

Or is the dream to be like Jessica Simpson? After all, she appears to Have It All: success, riches and a sexy boyfriend, for starters.

But she's paid a price for her fame: a pathologically pushy dad, no childhood to speak of, a failed first marriage, maybe a cosmetic surgery or four. Her intellectual limitations were broadcast on a reality show, making her an international figure of fun. Her every move is scrutinised. Her breasts are drooled over by dirty old men and forensically examined by all. Is that so appealing? I have a secret fondness for the Simpson girls – they're both hardworking troopers – but I'm not sure I'd like to be them. In fact, I'm not so sure about fame in any form.

Of course, some celebrities have masses of money and go to good parties. They live in luxury and go anywhere and do anything, often on private planes. But there's a good reason being famous is such a well-paid job; the reward for sacrificing the stuff that really matters in life has to be high.

The rest of the 'perks' that come along with huge fame (insecurity, competition, starvation, gnawing ambition, sycophants, users, lack of privacy and reality) are not, usually, essential ingredients for a good life.

Aim to be brainy. Happy. Real. That's our dream for you. ]]> Wed, 10 Jun 2009 12:00 +0200 http://www.cosmopolitan.co.za//CosmoWorld/EdsLetters/ch-ch-ch-changes-january-2009
And Murphy's Ex-boyfriend Law states that you will always bump into an ex-boyfriend when emerging from having been dumped by a messy big wave, with snot running down your face. You will come face to face with your past while trying desperately to re-adjust yourself and retain your dignity. (Or does this only happen to me?)

'Ha,' says the LVLT (Louis Vuitton Luggage Thief) as we eye each other up in the waves. 'You haven't changed a bit. You look exactly the same as the last time I saw you!'

'That's because you had just dumped me and I had snot running down my face and was trying to regain my dignity,' I say. 'Where's my luggage?' (Regular readers of this column will remember, perhaps, that my most awful ex packed his stuff into my precious luggage when he left me. I don't need reminding that I have better taste in luggage than in ex-boyfriends.)
'Gone! Gone!' he says. 'About four ex-girlfriends ago!' He looks disgustingly unfazed by both news updates. He is his same old cackly, scaley, confident self.

Nothing changes.

Or does it?

As I stand there – knee deep in the waves, in my JBS one-piece (which, no matter how cute, cannot disguise the fact that I am not the hottie I was when he decided I was not good enough for him) – I have an epiphany. I have changed! I don't care anymore!

I look at him and think: 1) why was I so crazy about you? 2) did all those trees have to die so I could weep tissues full for you? and 3) I actually look quite good considering the amount of white wine and chocolate cake that I have enjoyed since I last wasted time with a guy like you.

In January 2009, this ex isn't the all-powerful heartbreaker he once was. He's just a guy who gave me a metaphorical black eye and a bloody nose a few years ago. He's not good news. But he's not all bad either. And he was an excellent experience – he taught me what was bad for me.

Men. They are useful in many unexpected ways. 'I'm going for a swim,' I tell him. 'See you later.'

Dive in, COSMO gals! Enjoy. It's a New Year and time is a brilliant teacher. ]]> Wed, 10 Jun 2009 12:00 +0200 http://www.cosmopolitan.co.za//CosmoWorld/EdsLetters/guru-on-the-sofa-december-2008 One medal at the Olympics, Team SA? Yikes.) Give us strength. And a sense of humour.

'Or, you could get a sense of perspective.' The Man launches into a lecture from the sofa. 'Things could be worse. You could be living in Kazakstan – you wouldn't love that. A huge percentage of the planet lives below the poverty line. Or you could be someone's pet – and have to eat pet food. At least you are not a dog.'

He says the nicest things. 'Some men,' I retort, 'buy their partners diamonds and handbags that are more expensive than diamonds to cheer them up. You tell me that I am not a dog.'
On cue, he smiles his habitually cheery smile and disappears behind his Economist.

He has learnt a lot about managing me over the years and, much as it pains me to admit it, I've learnt a thing or two from him.

The Man believes, among other things:
1) That there is very little point in engaging in conversations with stupid people with fiercely held opinions. ('Who needs the stress? Why not think silent, happy thoughts instead?')
2) It is not guaranteed, in life (or even in South Africa), that everything will get worse. Some things might, will and do get better.
3) That if today was a good day (which could simply mean that nothing life-threatening has happened to anyone we love) we're on to a winner.
4) That if you have your health, a decent roof over your head, good friends and meaningful work, you are privileged.
5) That the way to lose weight is to say no to second helpings.
6) That he is actually of 'medium' height, even though he has been on the short side his entire life. (Gotta love that self-image!)
7) That it's a good thing to have a bit of padding on a girl companion as it's useful and cuddly on a cold, winter night.
8) That Miuccia Prada is the antichrist.
9) But that if a Prada handbag makes me happy, it's worth scraping together the money to buy one.
10) That because he is loved he is a lucky man. 'That's enough for me.'

And I believe 'That's enough for me!' is not a bad thought with which to leave you, our fabulous COSMO crew, at the end of this challenging year.

Don't think for a moment I mean for you to stop working towards success and reward. (You know that all of us at COSMO are behind you all the way as you strive for your dreams.) All I'm suggesting is this: take time to think about, and give thanks for, what you have. Take a break from fretting about what you don't. I promise you, as soon as you do, you'll feel a little more like dancing. It's December. Party month. You've got to dance! Be safe. Enjoy. Here's to 2009. ]]> Wed, 10 Jun 2009 12:00 +0200 http://www.cosmopolitan.co.za//CosmoWorld/EdsLetters/lioness-or-ostrich-november-2008
Sometimes I just blurt out whatever bird poop pops into my brain. 'The Ostrich!' I trilled. 'Sticking my head in the sand has enabled me to live a fantastic life in South Africa, no matter how wobbly I've been feeling.'

When I read our feature Make The Bad Times Work For You, I remembered that moment. (The answer to my earlier question – how do you answer an unanswerable question? – is obviously: not very well.)

Right now, many questions are being asked of all of us, many of them unanswerable. Is South Africa going to be okay? Should we stay or should we go? Will a peaceful settlement ever be found for Zimbabwe? What is Julius Malema smoking?

One thing I know now is that adopting the ostrich position never does anyone any good. Older and wiser, I've figured out that I'd rather be a lioness than an ostrich. Denial (although it has its uses) is a dangerous position to adopt. Thinking like a skittish bird with a brain the size of a peanut is just… bird brained. In an uncertain world, optimists do better than pessimists. Success is based on expectations. If you hope, plan for and expect a good life, chances are you will place yourself on the right path towards getting it. Travel hopefully and you'll make sensible choices, work hard and learn to cope with whatever challenges get thrown in your path. Expect the worst, and you choose fear over bravery. You shouldn't be foolish or reckless, nor ignore the scary stuff – you've just got to remember that this is it.

Perfect or not, these are your 20s, in many ways the most pleasurable years of your lives. As the old cliché goes: in life, there are no dress rehearsals. Given that you cannot control the universe, only your response to it, it is better to be brave, alert, aware, well-informed and always on the look-out for a great opportunity than standing in the middle of the veld with your head in the sand and your butt in the… oh, okay. I know you get my point. We hope that COSMO always gives you the inspiration and confidence to live your fun fearless life, no matter how stormy the weather. Read page108 and think like a lioness. Let's hear you roar! ]]> Wed, 10 Jun 2009 12:00 +0200 http://www.cosmopolitan.co.za//CosmoWorld/EdsLetters/good-girl-gone-bag-october-2008
But one thing no-one could fault my taste on is handbags. I own some real beauties. Call me superficial, but handbags make me happy. They're overpriced, unnecessary (who needs more than one LBB?) and possibly one of the fashion industry's most successful con tricks, but I would still probably be tempted to choose a new handbag over a final meal.

In fact, I once kissed a new Burberry Butter-chocolate leather Hobo on receiving it as a gift. Then I jumped up and down and squealed. Sad. I'm not usually a complete twit (my mother can take some comfort in that at least) but handbags are my weakness. And in hard times they are in danger of becoming a real moral dilemma too: who can justify such purchases? Is it time for Handbag Rehab?

As someone who aims to make some contribution to making the world a better place, I have to question my principles when I walk around grappling with the realities of, oh, let's say economic hardship, homelessness, xenophobia and Julius Malema while simultaneously panting and salivating in the manner of Pavlov's dog, nose pressed up against the windows of Louis V, Gucci and Harper. To me, handbags are girl porn.

We could have salved my guilty conscience this month by turning COSMO into 280 pages of political analysis, correctness and general do-gooderness… but have no fear! COSMO is about what makes all of us feel stronger, happier, better… and, as we say on the cover, sometimes a few of the not-so-good things in life are not so bad at all. In fact, they're certainly better than guilt (surely one of the most crippling emotions). A glass of wine here, a roast potato there, a cute, patent-leather scarlet Guess clutch… it's a fact that much of what we enjoy isn't exactly good for us. But, in my COSMO opinion, moderation and balance are. A life worth living can't only be good deeds, doom and responsibility. There is space in every woman's life, no matter how tough it is, for reward. What's really idiotic is rewarding yourself and then feeling tatty about it. So, sometime this month, don't forget to raise a glass to celebrate the good things you contribute to the universe, then treat yourself to whatever makes you feel happy. It's okay! You deserve it. ]]> Wed, 10 Jun 2009 12:00 +0200 http://www.cosmopolitan.co.za//CosmoWorld/EdsLetters/a-blonde-moment-september-2008
My man is suspicious, for as well as committing to my twice-a-week one-hour torture sessions I have also cut a fringe, gone a shade or three blonder, had a mid-winter leg wax and pedicure and spent a couple of badly behaved nights out on the town, without him.

Well, it's been a tough, depressing, expensive and rainy winter. I was in a slump, eating way too much of my favourite food: second helpings. Something had to be done.

'You know,' he says, suddenly the expert in female behaviour, 'when women in long-term relationships start colouring their hair and waxing their legs, especially in midwinter, it can only mean one thing: another man.'

Excuse me while I fall about laughing. Another man? How would I fit another man in, between all this maintenance? Has he not noticed how every one of my 'muscles' (aka rolls) is currently screeching with agony, or that after Pilates I walk like a 100-year-old woman? Do I look like a chick who wants to indulge in sexual gymnastics with someone new? It is horrifying enough to adopt the pretzel position, hidden beneath my baggiest sweats and a COSMO Kicks Butt T-shirt, under the neutral gaze of my Pilates teacher, let alone naked in front of a frisky new guy.

'William says it will take at least another eight sessions before my body looks good enough to be naked in front of someone new,' I say to him, reassuringly. Sometimes, in a grim winter, baiting a jealous guy is the best sport.

But I am touched that, after all this time and all my second helpings, he still believes that I'm attractive to other men. Sweet! Of course, I am not so many men's idea of a dream date, so he is pretty safe and needn't worry I might pole-dance in someone else's playboy pad, but his myopic devotion is nice to have.

He gets me thinking about the best piece of advice we haven't mentioned in our useful '112 COSMO Classics' on page80, and this is it:

When it comes to choosing The One, choose one who is crazy about you. Put this quality above most of the others. Don't chase, or bully or settle for someone who isn't 150% your biggest fan. That way you'll get the kind of enduring, endearing loyalty that real love offers. Make it your non-negotiable. ]]> Wed, 10 Jun 2009 12:00 +0200 http://www.cosmopolitan.co.za//CosmoWorld/EdsLetters/a-bitter-pill-august-2008
It's Ms Murphy's law that when a girl makes an effort sartorially her blind date turns out to have halitosis and a 3/10 personality. When she makes no effort at all… she bumps into the most polished, well-dressed and scary of her female acquaintances. I try to camouflage myself behind a friendly, non-judgmental trashcan, but fail. Clearly, it's not going to be my day. This chick has never been my favourite but, damn, she looks hot. We are now nose to nose and I have to talk to her. I wrack my brain for something cool and witty. But, as usual when I'm in a stressful social situation, my default setting is Nerd. In a flash I morph back into the geek in glasses I once was at high school. She is the SA equivalent of a US prom queen, just dressed head to toe in Louis or Gucci or something, and, sadly, at least two dress sizes smaller than she was the last time our paths crossed. 'WOW!' I blurt. 'You look hot! Amazing! You've lost tons! You're all… perky. You look gorgeous.'

'Pilates,' she says.

At this point, of course, I should have scurried off as fast as my wobbly, unexercised legs could carry me, but I continue gabbling: 'Oh, you're so motivated. I'm so impressed. I'm so disorganised. I can't get myself off the couch….' She cuts me off. 'Well,' she says, 'you don't look so bad.'

Spurred into action, I find myself, two weeks later, dangling from a Pilates frame, which appears to be a cross between something Pamela Anderson and Tommy Lee use for naughtiness in their bedroom and an instrument of mediaeval torture. William, the Pilates teacher, is diplomatically encouraging but, while I am contorted into pretzel positions the like of which I have only ever seen before in COSMO'S 101 Sex Positions booklet, I ask myself (repeatedly) why I am doing this. Research for this month's inventive take on sex positions? Er, no. This August COSMO is having fun and suggesting games in the bedroom. Whatever Pilates is, it's not fun. Yet. Of course, at COSMO we don't usually advocate only fun; most things that are worth getting are somewhat tough and require hard work. ('No-one gets paid to sit on the couch. You won't make a living eating pizza. Blah blah,' my father's voice echoes in my ears.) But you know what? This month, why don't you leave the hard work and pain (ouch, my 'muscles' are aching as I type this) to me – and take page 80 into your bedroom. 2008 is a tough year. You deserve some fun. Enjoy! ]]> Wed, 10 Jun 2009 12:00 +0200