The other day we were getting a pedicure—we'll leave it up to you to figure out which of us we're talking about—and were idly flipping through a copy of the November Marie Claire, the one with Sarah Michelle Gellar on the cover. ("Gellar grows up! And she's even more fab!" Ew.) Now, a couple things: We generally do not read Marie Claire, because it is often boring, but we'd been hearing all this stuff about EIC Joanna Coles' "new" MC and wanted to check it out, despite the fact that we find Sarah Michelle Gellar a rather, shall we say, uninspired cover choice. (And by "uninspired," we mean, remind us why we should care about her, exactly? She played a vampire slayer on a TV show years ago and she's married to a B-list actor. Yawn.)
Annnyway, we were all set to give MC a chance. Really, we were. But we were forced to come to the conclusion that it sucked long before we got to the list of things we just had to do before we were 40, which included buying a set of jazz CDs because jazz gets you laid. We're paraphrasing here, but really. Are you fucking serious? Then we read the following in Radar today, and suddenly it all made sense: "Seven months after her arrival, executives at Hearst are said to be in all-out panic mode over the dismal performance of Coles' early issues." Color us completely unsurprised.