O no!

Oprah produces a deeply flawed magazine for the deeply flawed.

By Lisa Moricoli Latham

May 25, 2000 | Hot off the presses, a slick full of soul, O magazine is the Oprah empire's latest golden egg. With its much-heralded publication, the march to Oprah omnipresence picks up the pace and we ask, "Can she do no wrong?" (The petty among us inquire about her weight.)

I picked up O in an obedient trance, with high expectations. Could a million Oprah Winfrey fans (her syndicated show's average daily viewership) be wrong?

Well, yes and no. It seems that in the estimation of O itself, they are not so much wrong as they are deeply flawed. The important thing, we learn, is that they -- we -- are not irredeemable. The way of salvation is conveniently arranged in the magazine's table of contents, where one finds no fewer than 17 self-improvement articles designed to lift readers -- pry them, if necessary -- out of the dumps, out of debt, out of ignorance and out of whatever rut has waylaid them from their goals.

In this month's issue alone, O covers courage, perspective, ambition, persistence, thrift, generosity, charity, industry, intuition, immediacy, tolerance, serenity and integrity. That's enough self-improvement advice to make everyone perfect. Unfortunately, the result of this editorial generosity is a magazine best described as a pastiche of Glamour and New Age monthly Tricycle, an ultimately depressing rag that falls prey to the excesses of both. Evidently, Oprah wants her readers to serve a higher power and form a better society -- while wearing capris, strappy mules and orange nail polish.

To be fair (not an attribute listed on this month's O agenda), I decided to take on the therapeutic assignments with an open mind. This magazine is nothing if not a tool, a prescription for contentment. I could hardly knock it without trying it.

So I leapt into "This Month's Mission," dutifully "journaling" for courage, filling out a fitness "contract" and asking myself to reveal my "deepest desire." I stuck a rose in my tote bag to "Give [My]self Some Flowers," and tamely "followed Oprah's lead" by posting the four pre-perforated inspirational 3-by-5 cards provided by the magazine on my bathroom mirror.

Unfortunately, as seen through the O lens, all these good intentions tend to blur until even Ralph Waldo Emerson ("What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us") winds up sounding like a bad greeting card.

Nevertheless, I powered on, heeding multiple advice columns that suggested I stop making loans to deadbeats and stop rewarding selfish, angry people -- which I took to mean that I should hide the magazine from my friends or no one will lend me money anymore. Similarly confusing was the juxtaposition of an article that encourages readers to spend a weekend on a girls-only retreat with one that instructs us to save Sunday as "The Day Just for You." I had to skip both concepts, since I didn't want to book a weekend with the gals and then ignore them half the time.

I read "When Less Really Is More" (Page 106) and cleaned out my closets per its instructions. Catharsis, as well as the virtue of charity, came with the removal and subsequent donation of my old stiletto heels. Next, I digested "Five Fabulous Things to Do With Fresh Strawberries," but choked on a New Age bromide declaring that "wisdom is like marinade."

Hollywood spiritual favorite Marianne Williamson (an Oprah pet) wants readers of her contribution to O to add "a cup of courage" to the marinade (for strawberries? I really couldn't tell) along with a "pinch of personal humiliation and a teaspoon of deep regrets." I tried to do this, but found I had only half a cup of courage, so had to borrow some from my neighbor. She was out, so we cut my regrets with lemon juice and served the marinade as a salad dressing.

Then there is the page of Sunday activities that features a call to prayer alongside a suggestion to get a free cosmetics makeover (Page 256). The only thing missing is a time-management strategy for doing both at the same time. If enough of Oprah's followers stampede the Clinique counter to meditate, it could spawn a whole new profession of aesthetician-priestesses who admonish client-supplicants to "turn your face to God ... so I can get your eyeliner straight."

Next Page: Canceling my pedicure was probably not the epiphany O's editors had in mind

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