MAXIM MEETS MEREDITH

I DON'T READ GIRLY MAGAZINES. ELLE, JANE, COSMO--THEY sit on the supermarket racks while I zoom through the express lane. Sure, I used to peruse the pages of Seventeen during slumber parties--but I never bought my own subscription. Magazines like these, I thought, just market insecurity. Feeling unattractive? All you need is that new shade of lipstick from L'Oreal. Boyfriend not treating you right? Try this new diet, he'll be eating out of your hand. I guess this attitude doesn't make me a good candidate to review the trendy new men's mag, Maxim, but I have great news to report: When your man is going to the gym, he's not indulging his Neanderthal muscle-building urges (okay, that might be part of it); he wants you to ooh over his pecs in bed.

Reading Maxim is a little like eavesdropping in a man's locker room. Dirty jokes, busty women, perverted fantasies--they're all there. This is not to say Maxim is a poor concept. Au contraire--it caters perfectly to the interests and needs of men, age 18-30. Finally, here is a magazine that tells men what they are doing wrong in bed, what to wear, how to act on a date and the numerous other social graces that women constantly complain guys lack. Does it mean that men are more insecure? Who cares! At least they won't wear that awful outfit anymore! And if Maxim is successful from a woman's perspective, it may have men heading to the gym in hordes to work off that beer belly (complements of "Muscle Up By March"). Maxim may actually be a force of improvement, Hey, I'd be impressed if I was out on a date, and he predicted the weather, (check out "Be Your Own Weatherman") or intelligently explained the difference between a porter and an ale.

Unfortunately, Maxim hasn't evolved much past the prehistoric era of men's publications. Maxim is of the creed that men still need scantily clad busty young women leering at them from the cover of a magazine to induce them to read it. While women's magazines traditionally advertise what you can become, Maxim is dedicated to showing guys what they can have.

Frankly, I admit that I would be more inclined to read Elle if it incorporated some of Maxim's off-color humor and sometimes disgusting articles like "Help! They Mangled My penis"--a graphically illustrated account of a man's horribly botched attempt at penile enlargement. I'd like to see a similar article entitled, "Revenge of the Silicon Breasts" to deter Pamela Lee Anderson wannabes. The fact is all of these magazines are just junk food for the brain. If they don't make you feel insecure about your height/weight/intellect, they waste your time with their inanity. Guys, welcome to our world. May you loath it as much as the next woman.