In the larger scheme of things, the closing of Cargo, a particularly obnoxious men's shopping magazine, may not seem like a world-historical event. But one can only hope that the fact that even the mighty Condé Nast called it quits means we might be seeing the beginning of the end of the worst consumer porn. 

Probably not, but I can dream. 

Consumer porn, as opposed to sexual porn, isn't concerned with genitalia and coupling. Rather, it's focus is on things—fetishizing possessions. Soufflés, sofas, Harleys, an Upper West Side classic six—these are the stuff of masturbatory fantasies. 

As someone who has always looked on shopping as a chore, not a leisure-time activity, and who considers covered malls as the Ninth Circle of Hell, I never quite understood why anyone would want to read articles about the 100 must-have scents or piling up more stereo equipment in my too-small apartment or buying more electronic gizmos that require a PhD in electronic engineering to navigate. 

Cargo, along with Stuff, Gear, the defunct Vitals and all those other butch one-syllable names (why didn't someone just go direct to the heart of the matter and call one Boner?) all chased after the same market—the dreaded media-made monster homo metrosexualis. 

The demise of Cargo doesn't mean that urban men will be shedding moisturizers and hair gels anytime soon. Because the fact is, we're all defined by our consumption—even if that takes the form of rebellion from consumption. Take the “real man,” as a recent Times story on beards showed: It's just another pose, another affectation. 

No, the fact that Lucky, Cargo's equally evil sister, continues to thrive, only points up the fact that, whether men like to shop as much as women, they don't want to admit it—and therein lies the difference. Women brag about shopping exploits; for men, it's a source of shame. At least for some of us. (Cargo readers are getting GQ subscriptions.)