An open letter to GOOP

Dear GOOP:

I want to support all things pro-woman— in fact, I’m on a mission to put the feminine back in feminism, yet I am on the peri-menopausal canyon’s edge of liking GOOP in my inbox each week (is it just once a week? It seems like more.) In my twenties and thirties, I was free and easy, but now that I’m almost fifty I am really picky about what goes into my inbox. These days, my patience is best summed up by, “ain’t nobody got time for that!”

Recently, I had my first hot flash while I was at work, eating a kale salad at my desk; trying to maintain the delicate balance of eating what I should most of the time, so that I can eat what I want once in a while, because middle-aged metabolism is like riding a roller coaster in hell. All of a sudden, I felt a flush in my ears which quickly spread to my face and neck. I ran downstairs to the pharmacy, grabbed a package of Benadryl and popped one in my mouth before my throat could close. I went back upstairs to my coworker’s office and started to lament my near-miss anaphylactic shock. She looked at me skeptically and asked, “are you sure it’s not a hot flash?”

“Shit.” I said. “I just took a Benadryl. Now I’m going to be tired all afternoon.”

That night, researching signs and symptoms online, I was discouraged to find only textbook descriptions of menopause— over and over again. Even GOOP let me down with an inconspicuous piece on eliminating sugar (and alcohol!) from my diet. Whadd’ya mean, like forever?! Fuck that. This is not the time to take away the only thing keeping me from fratricide.

Don’t get me wrong, the premise of GOOP is awesome. In fact, I think of our magazine, Alice, as a less-known, less-about-the-spotlight, less-of-a-prostitute-when-it-comes-to-advertising little sister of GOOP; the sister who wears jeans commando and isn’t afraid to go to a dive bar. While we women need as many resources as we can get for healthy, wealthy, and wise living, there’s a je ne sais quoi quality to GOOP that makes it a little difficile to relate.

Can you tell I just got back from France? I know what you’re thinking, “You were saying GOOP is exclusive…” But here’s the scoop, we found hella-cheap tickets on Icelandair, did not check any bags, (i.e., only took two pairs of shoes) and stayed at our cousin Paco’s maison-en-rangee (that’s a rowhouse, but it sounds fancier in French.) While I realize not everyone has a cousin Paco, they may have a similar opportunity with their brother’s boyfriend in Belgium or wherever… but we’ll never know, because GOOP would never feature such second-class accommodations. By focusing only on the elite options, not only are you limiting readership potential, but your own life experience. Hey, I like a garden party as much as the next gal, and I could spend an entire vacation in a five-star hotel bathroom, but there is something to be said for getting out in the world and getting a little dirty- and not just in your martini. I mean, really, when was the last time any of you were in a dive bar?

I love me a hole-in-the-wall cinder block building with cold drinks, hot tamales, and loud patrons. I also love it when I’m talking to someone and I honestly can’t guess what they’ll say next. Good times come in all walks of life, in all corners of the world, because there is energy in all of us. And energy responds to intention, so let’s get out in the world and make our intentions known. If you’re willing to get your white jeans dirty, GOOP is in a great position to promote feminism by providing a platform for the equality of all women: rich or poor, urban or rural, debutante or ex-con (or both— wouldn’t that make for an interesting cocktail party story!)

There is strength in our numbers, if we stick together and celebrate the feminine.

Merci,

Jeannie