Unreliable Sources

Since I've blindly loved Vogue for most of my life, imagine my disappointment in its October "Breast Cancer Awareness" story.

Frankly, I'm beyond pissed at the constant, unmitigated dissemination of erroneous, life-threatening information by *my* industry's most widely read publications. Enough is enough.

Let me tell you guys not in the media that all big publications—including the tabs—have employees in charge of fact-checking. After reading this piece in Vogue, I'm wondering where their team got the weed they were smoking when they fact-checked this one. They don't have a health editor. So, what, the beauty editor top edits the health pieces. Please, God I hope not.

And when I get enough time, yes, I'm going to line-edit Elizabeth Weil's story and show you guys how a responsible reporter works. Yeah, that's right—I'm acknowledging the fact that I'm a good reporter. It only took a decade of therapy and surviving Cancer to utter such an un-self-loathing comment, so don't hate.

But, I'm sure you're asking, 'How can she possibly do this and insult Vogue when she aspires to work for them? Because the point of an editor, in my opinion is to improve upon whatever it is you're working with. Plus, Vogue = fashion, not health. And the Health and Fitness section is quite clearly an afterthought for them. When Joanne Chen was there, it actually mattered. *She* knew her shit. I'm still on Vicodin, so I may read this when lucid and take it down. Get it while it's hot (aka before I edit)!

This is my Facebook status today, after I awoke at 3 p.m. thanks to having to pop Vicodin for my Breast Cancer pain. I was 31 when I got it. Would've been dead by 33 had I not found the lump. Seven years before Vogue suggests we have our first mammogram.

Stephanie Green

is furious after reading Elizabeth Weil's "Screen Test" BC Awareness story in Vogue. I will be correcting the factual errors point-by-point in a later blog. Vogue, I *worship* you, but your researchers and fact checkers should be canned. You are, with this story, perhaps costing women their lives, not saving them. Thirty-five, 35, 35 years old you need your first mammogram for fuck's sake!!!

There are lots of informative comments from fellow breast cancer queens, but I don't want to make theirs public. One of whom is Stage IV at age 35, okay? (Yeah, Ms. Weil, tell her to get her first mammogram at 40. I fucking dare you.) Forty years old is a LIE. Period! Arm yourselves ladies—your health is in your own hands. Smush your boobies to save your life!

They don't have the article on their web site. I will try to find tomorrow or Sunday online.

I highly encourage all of you who are affected by this story to write letters to the editor.

E: talkingback@vogue.com
But, I say bombard 'em with snazzy snail mail! If I know my readers, I know you've got oodles of John L. Strong to spare!

Letters, Vogue Magazine
4 Times Square
NY, NY 10036

Come on thirtysomethings, let's announce *our* presence in the Breast Cancer community! We're young, we're cool, we have Cancer. Get over it.