Non-zero: Chance that my above conclusion is wildly incorrect, and that I’ve gone soft in all my months of not blogging.
Hundreds: Questions raised by the Nina Dobrev cover. Like, what exactly is she doing? Did a photo editor dream up this contortion? How long did she have to stand like that to get the shot? Is houndstooth back? What do guys think of the pictures I post, and as an old married person, do I care?
1.3: Brain cells engaged by the cover-heralded “Confessions” section. Twenty-somethings do dumb shit when they drink and a six-year-old didn’t know to sit with her knees closed? FASCINATING. (Tangent: Even Redbook, geared as it is to an older crowd, is publishing reader confessions now. Why? There’s no point publishing decades-old tales of embarrassment when Twitter lets us watch people make asses of themselves in real time every single day.)
Double: The standard employed by “Cosmo Guy” Josh Peck. When he’s asked about co-star/noted domestic abuser Chris Brown, he says, “I can comment only on how he was with me,” but when asked about former co-star Amanda Bynes, he lets fly with, “I’d say get a flip phone that doesn’t have internet on it.” Charming, bro.
68: Page on which writer Jessica Bennett asks “why are we all such haters.”
A kajillion: Approximate number of haters Jessica Bennett spawned last week when she posted that her employer, Sheryl Sandberg’s organization Lean In, was seeking an unpaid intern.
1:4: Ratio of outfits worn by Rebel Wilson to pages devoted to her. Insert commentary about how fashion magazines fail at making anyone over a size 0 look fashionable.
$12: Anticipated price of a tube of toothpaste if Cosmo’s “tooth facial” terminology catches on. Oh, and the “facial”? It’s a ludicrously ornate name for brushing, flossing, and rinsing with mouthwash.
20: For no apparent reason, the number of words that Cosmo’s beauty director limits herself to answering reader questions on page 122.
Only this once, I think: Number of times I’ve looked at a page of Cosmo and thought, “I should remember this for future use,” and didn’t mean future mockery. (For the record, page 132′s “Sexy on No Sleep” is going to come in handy for me, because I’m bad at sleep.)
Like a tiny smidge, maybe: Amount of relief I felt upon seeing this ad—which I first spotted in Seventeen—in a publication ostensibly aimed at adults. It’s sliiiiiiightly less abhorrent to tell grown women that street harassment is a compliment than to tell teens that, right? Maybe? No?
17: Number of international Cosmo editors who participated in “Your Passport to Hotter Sex,” providing valuable contributions to global understanding by revealing that pegging is big in Australia and making a sex tape is cool in the Netherlands, provided you don’t “scream each other’s first and last names during your performance.” Can someone call the Nobel Committee, please?
110/70: My normal resting blood pressure, which remained entirely consistent while reading “What Really Goes Down at a Bachelor Party.” If you suspected guys ate red meat and pounded booze and went to strip clubs, ding ding ding! And if you thought reading about that would be a total snore, right again!
The 90s: The decade mercifully not resurrected in the beauty feature in this issue, unlike every other magazine I’ve read recently. Instead, it’s “That 70s Show.”
At least 1,000: Number of words this picture is worth.
Tons: Sincere praise I give for “Your Cosmo Guide to Contraception” package, 12 pages of everything from IUD failure rates to how to talk to a gynecologist. How old are Cosmo’s readers that they need to be told that jumping up and down after sex doesn’t prevent pregnancy? I don’t know, but vital information in this kind of easily digestible format cannot possibly be a bad thing.
245: Page of the aforementioned feature that includes instructions for applying a condom with your mouth, breasts, and feet. Maybe that’s the page you’d like to remember for future use.