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Classic teen awkwardness and naiveté made most of
the advice letters extremely amusing. But some weren't funny at all.
Confused, lonely girls would write to TeenGirl Spirit as if the
magazine was their only friend. Occasionally, a girl would mention some
sort of abuse she'd undergone or talk about wanting
to kill herself. And in most of those cases, she wouldn't bother leaving a
return address.
It was that kind of letter that began to drive me over the edge. I'd been working at TeenGirl Spirit for only six weeks, and the novelty had already completely worn off. I felt alienated from almost all the women on staff. Part of the reason I'd thought the magazine's content was funny was because I felt so removed from it. But most of my co-workers, I realized, did not share this distance. The idea of a "lip gloss rundown" or a "cutest guy on Melrose Place poll" didn't seem as absurd to them as it did to me. They were really into this teenage girl shit.
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I could no longer hide my utter lack of enthusiasm. The letters depressed
me too much. While proofing final pages of the magazine, in front of my
boss, I would utter loud groans and exclamations of frustration (e.g.
"Ohhhh FUCK! I can't believe this shit anymore!"). I started screwing up
administrative tasks on a daily basis. The "Blush!" letters I'd make up
became increasingly mocking and outlandish.
I was challenging my bosses to catch me.
Nobody at the magazine ever found out I was the main author of "Blush!" But even a 14-year-old would've been able to realize I was already interviewing for other work. After only two months as a Teengirl Spirit employee--my first-ever real job--I was politely asked to leave. How embarrassing! |
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