Dear Martha,
I have just received the September issue of Living and feel I must write to express my concern with the magazine's depiction of ... well, you.
Firstly, what in the name of good sense are you wearing on the cover? You are a grown woman who no doubt has a stylist and a lively checkbook and lives in close proximity to Manhattan (although I suppose you can't personally go shopping right now - apologies). You look like any one of several thousand undergraduates on my campus. Your jeans are whiskered, for goodness's sake, and your sweater is sheer with a strappy tank. You look about twenty years younger, but not in any way that could possibly be natural. You also appear to be standing in a pose based on Paris Hilton, with the joints on alternating sides of your body jutting out strangely. You're cradling a shrubbery. I know you like your plants but I'm not sure I've ever seen you hug even your pets. Put the plant down.
Furthermore, your column about paint color inspiration is deranged. Do you have a robot, attached to a thesaurus and the New York Times social pages, that writes those for you? We don't care where the antique fair was where you saw the exquisite lava jewelry cameoes. We don't care who your friends are or how many marathons they've run or what other virtuous things they do in their spare time. I'm sure your new house is lovely - I have never for an instant doubted your talents - but surely there was a better way to express your process of making it, as you say, a home.
You may remember me from a previous missive last February. Your publication generally brings me great joy and inspiration - and appreciation for your staff's love of life's little delights - so it is with a heavy heart that I have written the above. I just wish you the best - but don't your toes hurt in those little pointy shoes? Put on your gardening clogs and tell me what to do with my crop of tomatoes. Please. I miss you.
BW
PS Is the cover image the work of Trump or those other reality-show sleazebags? Just walk away, girl. Walk away.
