The fashion in O is presented with the same breezy prose that other women's magazines use, which is to say it flogs couture as a pick-me-up, a prescription against depression. Like O's decorating hint, "Open Up Your Home With Warm and Bright Shades of White," the clothes try to fashion a bright outlook via sunny appearances.

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That should be a good thing, but the difficulty is that these particular items don't elevate their wearers via elegance or distinction. Instead they take the form of one of the most aggressively Midwestern, middle-class, conformist -- not to mention marginalizing -- costumes the postwar era has yet to see. Which is OK, I suppose. Except you can't wear capri pants and thongs to a hearing or to give a lecture -- never a problem for Harper's Bazaar editors, but the voice pitching the backlash garb this time isn't supposed to be one of the patriarchy's usual dupes. Or is she?

In Oprah's "Let's Talk" column, she writes that she wants her magazine to help you "become more of who you are." Not exactly an easy goal to evaluate. It is worth pointing out, however, that while the benefits of this magazine to Oprah's readers may be hard to pin down, it is obvious that it helps Oprah become more of what she is: a media mogul.

There are times when the gulf between O and its readers is unintentionally funny. While the financial advice column lists suggestions for saving $1,000 in just one year, "What to Wear With Jeans" suggests sprucing up your old Levi's with a long-sleeved T-shirt in lime green that costs a mere $795. Hey O, I've got an idea -- skip the T-shirt and you'll have an $800 start on the nest egg.

Not that Oprah's magazine doesn't have its merits. It should be a big hit, for some of the same reasons that "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire" is the highest-rated show on television. It underestimates us and at the same time enriches the already wealthy. Oprah's origins as a poor black girl from Mississippi temporarily let the reader forget that no one, and especially not Oprah, has yet lost money underestimating the American public. But this time, the underestimation feels personal; O is supposed to know better.

Maybe I ought to feel grateful to O for reminding me of the joy of prayer, charity and service to my fellow human beings -- but the truth is, a week after consuming the magazine, the only O article that genuinely changed me was an excerpt from a forthcoming autobiography by Elizabeth Kim. Appropriately located in the "Phenomenal Woman" column of the magazine, the story of Kim witnessing her mother's murder for bearing a mixed-race child (Kim herself -- the product of an illicit liaison with an American soldier) is amazingly good.

Surely this chilling book excerpt represents the best of what inspires Oprah, her television show and her book club -- and erases all their excesses. Bringing Kim's book into a magazine aimed at dissatisfied women is probably the best possible way to promote it to the sort of readers who "need" it most. But at what cost to such readers does Oprah frame journalistic truth with a $185 Burberry dog leash?

"Phenomenal Woman" or not, because of its form/content conflict, O's most emblematic page doesn't feature reportage, fashion, advice or even poetry: It is a Hallmark ad featuring an African-American schoolgirl opening a card she has found in her book bag -- and it sums up all of O's lofty goals, craven means and empty promises. The caption reads: "Self-Esteem, 99¢."
salon.com | May 25, 2000

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