When my friend Julie handed me a new magazine personality quiz
it didn’t take long for me to figure out what this was going to
mean to my life.
When my friend Julie handed me a new magazine personality quiz it didn’t take long for me to figure out what this was going to mean to my life. It meant that I’d spend fifteen minutes diligently answering either yes or no to questions such as, “When you break up with someone, do you think it is impossible for them ever to find someone as great as you?” Or “Are you disappointed with what you see when you look at yourself naked in the mirror?” only to find out that 1) I’m walking around with absolutely no identifiable personality whatsoever or 2) I have the exact same type of personality as career politicians and people with criminal records.
However, the most puzzling test I’ve seen is the one that claimed I could get my husband to unwittingly reveal what he’s secretly thinking by having him draw the eyes on a Russian doll. Now, this brings up a whole set of problems – besides the fact that you probably really don’t want to know what in the heck he’s thinking anyway.
The first is that you have to persuade your husband to do it. The second is that, living in the United States, Russian dolls are not as easy to come by as you would think and, according to the instructions, absolutely no other nationality will do. So, out of necessity, he would have to draw eyes on the sketch of the Russian doll in the magazine. But tell me, how can you be sure this is accurate? I mean, what if the test tells you he’s really thinking of buying a red sports car and planning on living out the rest of his days in a beachside condo with a twenty-something blond? So then you head off to find a good lawyer and start the divorce proceedings and all that; only to find out, years later, that had you used an authentic doll, the test results would’ve shown that all he was really thinking was, “Gee, this is really a stupid test.”
And if that’s not enough, last week while browsing through a woman’s magazine at the grocery store, I found the “lipstick test.” For those of you lucky enough not to know what this is, it’s where you can find out exactly what kind of person you are by the shape of the tip of your lipstick. For instance, a rounded tip means you are easygoing, a pointed one means you are assertive, and an arched one means you are a creative sort and so on.
Naturally, I immediately whipped out my lipstick from the bottom of my purse to compare it to the pictures in the magazine – only to find it had been completely smashed down into the tube by my children. And since smashed wasn’t an official category, (although, let’s face it, it should be) I did the only thing I could think of: I found the most desirable personality configuration and sculpted it into that shape with my lips.
Another thing about magazine quizzes is that no one – no one – is immune to them. Take, for example, my veterinarian friend, Carol, who can’t resist career choice quizzes. She’s taken dozens of them and, according to the results, she’s perfectly cut out to be a diesel mechanic, a police officer, or a Las Vegas showgirl. The funny thing is, they never mention anything about animals or medicine so she goes back and takes the test again. And again. Until eventually, by eliminating all other career options, veterinarian shows up as the answer.
Of course any fool knows that nobody really learns anything new by taking magazine quizzes. You’d be better off spending your valuable free time finger-painting or embroidering pillowcases. But, admit it, there’s something inherently intriguing about finding out which swimsuits reflect your true personality or if you are, indeed, compatible with the man you’ve been happily married to for the last twenty-five years.
At least that’s what I thought until I took the “Are You a Real Woman?” quiz. As shocking as it seems, it concluded that I, the mother of two children, was not a real woman at all. In fact, not even close. Yes, it’s occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, I should be worried about this.
But, then again, I was never very good at taking quizzes.
Debbie Farmer’s column appears every Monday.
