Amid reports that retail sales are getting pummeled, the September fashion magazines have hit newsstands in the past week. We all know that hemlines tend to drop along with the economy, and it's no surprise that (thankfully) upper thighs are about as rare in these issues as robust mutual funds. Fashion mags have long walked the line between presenting themselves as shopping guides of wearable trends and offering glossy spreads of five-figure frocks. But do women in today's economy want to confront pages of $1,000 shoes when they are struggling to pay the rent? Or do they prefer practicality over fantasy in these trying times? We looked at six magazines to see how editors responded to the current economic waist-cinching and whether ads—not hemlines—are up or down from last year. Here, from Elle's reaction of What recession? to the recessionary lack of glamour at Glamour, are the results.

Elle
Attitudinal hemline: Micro-mini
Ads: Up 7 percent

Perhaps we can credit Elle's September spike with a presence in television—Stylista, this fall's real show set in fake Elle offices, and, on Project Runway, Nina Garcia's "at-large" position with her ex-employer. Last month, the magazine commissioned a study that found that 8 percent of American women are recession-proof shoppers. Ladies, this mag's for you. In its pages, we meet a law student in $1,375 Giuseppe Zanoti boots and learn that the accessories editor "jetted to Tokyo for the Prada fete." One feature on jewelry's "major fashion moment" names "designers within reach" like Lanvin, for the design house's $2,000 art deco cuffs. (Yes, they are lovely.) Need office supplies? Pick up a $90 sterling paperclip—why not get a whole box? —or a $160 cell phone strap. "Must-haves" include a $2,100 Malo flared miniskirt and $2,960 Givenchy pants. This month's advice column soothes the relationship woes of a 23-year-old with a boyfriend who won't commit but offers her a "comfortable" life "complete with private jets and superyachts." (Is that even a word?) Elle's next co-branded show might just be a remake of Fantasy Island.

Recently, while taking a lunch-break stroll near my office, a woman handed me a free bag of a new snack food: Engobi Cinnamon Surge Energy Go Bites. "Infused with caffeine" the bag boasted, alongside some sparkly graphics that seemed to imply the process of infusion happening to what looked like a pork rind. Obviously, I had to try them. Back at the office, I opened the bag of chemical-smelling crisps and prepared, as the packaging suggested, "to get wired. I mean really wired."

I also did some poking around on the Web and discovered 1) that I had met a real, live Engobi Girl in the midst of their East Coast van tour; and 2) that the snack food is the creation of Ohio-based Rudolph Foods Co., the world's largest manufacturer of pork rinds. With Engobi—which are not actually pork rinds but kind of sugary puffs—Rudolph claims to have introduced the market's first "caffeine-infused munchie," but it is not the first company to have added caffeine to snack foods and candy. Sluggish shoppers can also purchase caffeinated gum, mints, chocolates, jelly beans, sunflower seeds, and even instant oatmeal. (Other products have come and gone: For a while, Snickers was offering the limited-edition Charged bar stocked with caffeine.)

Intrigued, and already starting to feel wired-I-mean-really-wired from the Engobi, I resolved to test this bounty of artificially caffeinated prepackaged foodstuffs. Sure, they had silly names and were marketed mainly at teenagers—but I could imagine them serving a useful purpose for the average working stiff. Could a piece of gum be a reasonable substitute for a hot, unwieldy cup of coffee when you're running late to work? Might popping a mint before a long meeting help you stay alert and focused? Would munching some sunflower seeds satisfy an afternoon snack attack and provide a pleasant jolt to help you get through the rest of the day? I was determined to find out.

There's nothing quite like the Olympics to make me feel guilty about my slothful lifestyle. Most weekends I while away the hours on my couch, watching movies, reading magazines, and musing idly about going to the gym. My routine is pretty much the same when the Olympics are on, only it feels more shameful. Everywhere I look, I see pictures of toned athletes straining and sweating, and anytime I turn on the television, there's an inspirational montage telling me that Olympians aren't so different from you and me. They're just more motivated.

This year, to cut down on Olympics-induced self-pity, I decided to take up swimming. More precisely, I decided that at some point in the future I would take up swimming. First I'd need a good pair of goggles—the item, I've always thought, that divides the lappers from the splashers (and that would prevent me from using the lame "I'd swim for exercise, if only my darned eyes weren't so sensitive to chlorine" excuse). Not content to settle for any old pair, I pledged to find the best goggles out there.

Methodology
To get a sense of the marketplace, I started by calling up two-time Olympic gold medalist Lindsay Mintenko, who's now the managing director for the U.S. swim team. I asked her how I should go about testing prospective models and which brand she preferred. She advised that in addition to swimming laps, I should practice diving to make sure the goggles fit snuggly. She also told me she was partial to Swedish goggles: Manufactured by the swim gear and pool equipment company Malmsten, these have no seal of any kind around the eyecups and require assembly, allowing for maximal customization.