I'm o.k. and you're some sort of doormat?

Recently I missed a chance to publicly discuss a Danish women's magazine called Nova which is addressed to grown women ("We don't care if you're 35 or 65. If you feel welcome you are welcome"). Here comes a blogpost in stead.

The new magazine which came out on November 23 has adopted the first person singular a lot, as members of the writing staff share their personal experience with readers (the editor in chief, Mette Holbæk, writes a lot of the copy and serves as a permanent cover girl too.) What struck me, however, on reading the magazine wasn't the first person singular as much as the second: "Are you the office doormat? Why you die from being nice." In this fashion, the would be invitational "I" is subverted and one's reading of the stories constantly constrained by heavy-handed guidance.

For instance, a prominent story by Winnie Haarløv written in the first person singular on how I learned that no love can be wrong (as I decided to date a 15-year old pupil of mine) is accompanied by a sidebar giving you 5 good reasons that you would want to pick a younger (!) man too. What seems to begin in a humourous tone turns into very specific recommendations of the sort that "it becomes natural for you to take good care of your skin, eat sensibly and avoid [wearing your comfortable] track suit pants on Saturdays."

And "a diet do-gooder's confessions" about how I learned to listen to my body is accompanied by another sidebar containing categorical pieces of expertise including, for instance, the fact that white bread, white rice and pasta can be counted as "one of the greatest health and nutritional catastrophes of modern food" (so maybe I'm ready to listen to my body, but maybe you had better not listen to yours after all).

Basically, the imperative you-form mocks the readers' ability to process the stories on their own. At least that's how it sounds to me. So just for the record: I'm 33 and I did not feel welcome.