I was flipping through the pages of Cosmopolitan yesterday. In between the articles on "Coping When Your Man's In Trouble" and "In Search of Fertility," I encountered model after perfect-looking model taunting me to buy their products.

Carol Alt, snuggled in a black fur coat, flashes a stocking-clad thigh, urging me to drink Amaretto di Saronno. A super-toned blond girl kicks a slim leg in front of a perfectly sculpted young man -- reminding me that Secret is strong enough for a man, but made for a woman. And Pierce Brosnan, that gorgeous would-be James bond, gazes at me with steely blue eyes as he recommends Maidenform lingerie.

Advertising is big business and it's everywhere. Andie McDowell, the striking brunette of sex, lies, and videotape fame, sings the praises of L'Oreal makeup in between segments of the "Arsenio Hall Show."

During breaks of "Cheers," Lorenzo Lamas tells us what he does in his BVDs. In every visual medium -- magazines, television, billboards -- we're barraged with sexy models endorsing everything from soap to Subarus.

"Sex sells" -- a tired but true cliche. Being a communications major, I hear it all too often.

Advertising agencies and media planners have preconceived ideas about the types of models they want in ads. They rely on an endless list of justifications for their narrow criteria -- the sexiest, fittest people are easy to look at . . . a beautiful person seems more credible than an average-looking one . . . consumers believe the product will make them look/feel/be like the model.

To advertisers, these are all viable and undeniable reasons to use "perfect-looking" models. Unfortunately, the media does not always reflect reality, particularly in advertising.

Most of us do not look like Christie Brinkley or Jim Palmer. But the message that we get from advertising says, "We all look this good. We are beautiful and strong and credible. Buy what we're selling. Be like us."

I can remember when I was in high school, watching TV and wondering why I wasn't as thin as Paulina Porizkova, as beautiful as Kelly LeBroc, as sexy as Cher. I remember hating my body, and believing that I would be happy and complete if I could just trade it in for one of theirs.

Fortunately I have matured (somewhat, let's hope) and I now like my body. I'm in shape and I like the way I look. I'm no Michelle Pfeiffer, but I've realized that looking like her doesn't supersede being happy.

Still, this peace of mind comes after years of insecurity, a bout with bulimia and lots of soul searching.

My quest for the perfect body was a no-win race. I used to compulsively diet, sometimes not eating for days at a time. I was miserable -- no matter how much weight I lost, I was never satisfied with my looks.

When the realization that I would never look like a supermodel hit me, as it inevitably did, I began to binge out of frustration and self-hate. The binges created enormous amounts of guilt. Eventually I would start another diet, vowing that it would be my last and that it would bring me beauty and desirability.

It never did.

I never knew true serenity until, with the help of family, friends, and support groups, I realized that I would never have the body of Paula Abdul. I finally accepted the body that I possess and I respect it enough to take care of it.

A few days ago, while I was watching "Golden Girls," I saw an ad for Dannon Light Yogurt. It showed three or four people, ranging from slightly pudgy to borderline obese. For the most part, they were fairly attractive people.

All of the models in the commercial were struggling to fit into some article of clothing. None of them could do it. One lady burst a zipper on a dress. Another man popped a button on a coat.

At the close of the ad, a thin, attractive woman sat eating Dannon Light Yogurt while the announcer's voice intoned: "Dannon Light -- because how you feel is a reflection of how you look."

The ad was effective. I watched it from beginning to end. I thought it was funny and the slogan played on my guilt. But the message annoyed me.

Yes, the way I look sometimes influences the way I feel. But it doesn't make or break my day. I have more substantial things to worry about than the size of my thighs.

When I'm on deadline (like I am now), cramming for an exam or getting ready for an interview, my looks are the least of my worries. I feel lucky in that respect, though, because I know plenty of people who stress more over the way their pants fit than how they actually feel. i used to be one of them.

It bothers me that we're continuing to send these "you must look just so" messages, especially to adolescents. I think it's wonderful that our society is health and fitness-conscious, but when I see people with eating disorders and thin people who hate their bodies I wonder where it will stop.

As scary as it might sound, celebrities like Roseanne Barr and John Goodman are refreshing to me -- because they're in the limelight and don't look flawless.