How to be successful. Shall we stop reading those mengazine?

r”It’s not about passion. Passion is something that we tend to overemphasize, that we certainly place too much importance on. Passion ebbs and flows. To me, it’s about desire. If you have constant, unwavering desire to be a cook, then you’ll be a great cook.” – Thomas Keller

I think a title like this should attract people to read it. As I am a total loser when it comes to SEO, tags and relative sh*t, I can only come up with absurd and luring titles.
Anyways, the main point of this article is I am addicted to men magazines. The style, the gloss, the amazing pictures (and the hot models in it, LOL).
I am like a moth in a wool shop, and devour them, first with my eyes and then I just digest all the words. Sometimes I read so fast that the words and the lines get misplaced, confused, mixed and I don’t know what I am doing, were I am reading, but I carry on, like a marathon, I can’t stop it.
I don’t know what gets me the most, I believe it is down the fact that I truly envy these successful people, not their money, not their beauty (Unless you are Jake Gyllenhaal, then I’m greener than the Witch of Oz). I envy the fact that most of them had a thing, ONE, and they became good at it, they worked on it and progressed till the point were it gave them results.
Me? I bounce from one flower to the other and I seem unable to keep my mind on just one -flipping- main focus. What’s wrong with me, GOSH!
So in a desperate attempt, I dream while reading their stories, and blah blah, the first 45 seconds I am in a super awww-like status, then I realise I hate them, well not really but sorta, they are there on those shiny pages wearing they fucking Dolce and Gabbana that possibly has already abused of 12 kids in China for the making, while looking splendid, and I am here.

So I close the magazine in a rant of pain, and nearly threw it on the other side of the office, I wish I did that, at least it would have been a nice distraction for my colleagues; instead I leave it on the side of my desk. I check it from time to time and hope that the front cover magically has my face instead of the handsome man who invented blablablabla.
C’mon I write a blog, I do boylesque, isn’t enough to be on the front cover of Esquire? Or GQ? I’m funny too and I date pizza! I’m not ashamed!
Apparently not.

Honestly I do feel inspired by these people, but I believe these magazine somehow create a sort of dependency, by passively aggressively proving you are not enough. “You can’t afford this Cartier watch? Too bad… I know, look how amazing it suits him! Only £5000” Who fucking has £5000 for a watch? Also, why on heart do you need it? I know, I know, classic rant of an idiot that can’t reach it, but still. I would have free rent for a year with that money. I start feeling troubled, and can’t stop thinking of Giovanni Verga’s Oyster theory: once you move out from the environment that life projected on you, you basically end up dead eaten by a fish.
So commoners should stay commoners.
Waaaaaah! What do I do with all these beams of light? I mean, I was born to be seen and entertain people. Better limit this pizza to once a week, and go back to my gym, Jake Gylehahwavalallah the game is on, I will show the whole world that I can be on Esquire, GQ, Vanity Fair, with a fucking amazing Primark 100% nylon (yuck!) suit and look fabulous and damned as you do. IT’S WAR.

Also, can anyone explain me why these magazine can’t feature anything under £10? I mean really? WE ARE POOR. I probably had to skip a meal to buy your glossy pages, and this is how you are being grateful to me Esquire? Thanks, no no really, thanks.

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