WTF, Vanity Fair?

I've written before about why I chose to not put my degree to use and become a journalist.

I love to write. I mean, y'all have read my blog, I clearly love to write. Often, too much. But that's not the point.

When I first changed majors from special education to communications/ journalism, I mostly did it with this big, grand idea of moving to New York City and working for a fashion magazine.

And then I realized the fact that I obviously defeated anorexia would be a deal breaker in the fashion industry, so I became slightly realistic.

A few years later, my disgust over what American media deems newsworthy in all areas of journalism became my own deal breaker. I could not and would not write for a publication that wasn't interested in solely producing newsworthy material. I would not.

But I still scour many fashion magazines/blogs/websites weekly. I have quite the shopping habit, but that's another post for another time. And while fashion magazines seldom cover any topic that is absolutely, 100% newsworthy, it is a guilty pleasure of mine and I manage to look past the lack of importance. That is, until recently.

I don't subscribe to Vanity Fair. In fact, I rarely read it. But that rare occasion is now non-existent, due to something they covered in their most recent issue. Something so appalling that my reasons for not pursuing a career in journalism became even more abundantly clear.

In the current issue on newsstands, the magazine does a spread of pictorials of the Tiger Woods home wreckers mistresses.

Seriously? That's trashier than something one would read in The National Enquirer.

Do you want to know why nasty ass women sleep with celebrities? Because the American media effing makes them celebrities and gives them frickin spreads in magazines. The only thing those faces should be plastered on is the female version of dontdatehimgirl.com. And a dart board.

The fact that the media is so fascinated with stories such as Tiger Woods' inability to keep it in his pants and the recent saga between Jesse James and Sandra Bullock is disgusting. And, quite frankly, an embarrassment to what this country considers to be of importance. It goes against everything for which I stand.

Shouldn't the goal of the media be to inform, first and foremost, but to also encourage positive actions? To encourage us to be good, productive members of society? To teach us to make a lasting impact on this world that is noteworthy? To know what the hell is going on in this world that may actually have an effect on our lives?

So, Vanity Fair, and the like, to you I say: instead of glorifying adulterous behavior, how about you find citizens who actually do some good for the country? Heaven forbid we actually write stories that *gasp* are inspirational. In fact, they don't even need to be inspirational, but they should at least be of importance. Or educational, because we all know how uneducated the rest of the world thinks we Americans are.

How about we give focus to topics that actually need attention, and stop giving it to the attention whores of the world that would sell their own child just to be in a magazine.

Need topic ideas? I'd gladly provide your journalists and editors with a list of what to and not to cover. Top of that list of 'not's'? Kate Gosselin, Tiger Woods and company, and Jesse James and his tattooed tramp. Of course, the comprehensive list is much more extensive.

I have very little respect for American media any more. Very little.