Ragon Duffy went to pro-choice rallies in her stroller and was the only sixth-grader in town with a KEEP YOUR LAWS OFF MY BODY button on her backpack. Her mom bought her a subscription to
Sassy
. “Which was particularly cool, since she wouldn't buy me any typical magazines at all,” says Duffy. “We were a feminist household: no Barbies because she was bad for body image and self-esteem; not a lot of TV or pop-cultural things; lots of books.” But Duffy's mom read about
Sassy
in
Ms
. magazine and decided to give the little sister of feminism's standard-bearer a try. Duffy liked the publication for more than its politics. “I loved it because it was a magazine just for me. It had a certain snarky sense of humor. And it was all about how it was cool to be different and to just be who you are,” she says. “I was the geeky, shy older daughter and while my mom was a very cool person, I didn't think she understood the stresses and influences in my life.”
Sassy
did.
Sassy
's reliance on personal stories and truth-telling were very much in the feminist tradition; so was its emphasis on choice and the politics
of daily life. Its tone was equally important. Duffy liked that
Sassy
talked about its subjects in “a non-patronizing way.” Plus, “I liked that its articles focused on girls as people and always emphasized how much power you could have.”
At first,
Ms
. seemed like a funny place to carry an ad for a teen magazine that heralded celebrities, makeup, fashion, and cute boys.
Ms
., which was founded in 1972 to be the mouthpiece of the then-burgeoning Second Wave of the women's liberation movement, had a reputation for refusing to cozy up to any of those topics, preferring to focus on political, legal, and socioeconomic issues like war, sexual harassment, and breaking through the glass ceiling.
Ms
. was supposed to be an alternative to the softer, more conciliatory “Seven Sisters”âthe industry name for recipe-, fashion-, and marriage counselingâheavy women's titles like
Ladies' Home Journal
,
Family Circle
, and
McCall's
. Because
Ms
. refused to offer “complementary copy”âstories to make you want to buy the products in the publication's adsâthe magazine remained a struggling not-for-profit until Sandra Yates came along.
“I'm going to prove you can run a business with feminist principles and make money,” Sandra told
The New York Times
in 1988. In the beginning, she did.
Sassy
had been on the market for just a month when Fairfax decided to divest its U.S. properties by April of that year. Sandra and Dr. Anne Summers joined forces to create Matilda Publications and bought
Sassy
and
Ms
. in only the second leveraged buyout in U.S. corporate history to be led by women. “I think there was definitely this idea that
Sassy
would be this sort of prep school for future
Ms
. readers,” says Karen. The pair led
Ms
. to its highest-ever circulation at 550,000;
Sassy
's circulation was soaring as well.
The
Sassy
staff was excited by the new relationship. By and large, they had grown up with feminist
Ms
.-reading mothers. Jane listened to
Free to Be You and Me
as a kid; she and her mom marched in support of the ERA. Christina's mom “was what my father calls a âWomen's Libber,'” she recalls. “But she was a suburban mom. She was no Betty Friedan.” Neither was most of the
Sassy
staff. But if they weren't activists, waving placards and conducting sit-ins like the women at
Ms
., they had grown up reaping the benefits of the women's movement. They went to college at a time when women's studies departments were on the rise, priming them to think that anything was possible, and that there was nothing more normal than to deconstruct gender roles.
But despite a shared owner and political impetus, “The
Ms
. and
Sassy
people didn't really interact,” says Jennifer Baumgardner, who started working at
Ms
. in 1992 and, as the publication's youngest staff member, was one of the few to befriend the teen-magazine editors. “The
Sassy
people were very intimidated by the
Ms
. people because we were supposedly the intellectual and serious feminists. And the
Ms
. people were intimidated by the
Sassy
people because they were stylish and knew Michael Stipe.”
But even if the
Sassy
staff never felt embraced
by their feminist elders, the sight of Gloria Steinem in the communal bathroom was still a thrill. Did they look up to the activists across the hall? “Absolutely, yes,” says Karen. “But then I think we were doing our own thing. I think we recognized that the language that they were using wouldn't be right for our readers.”
And
Sassy
had to do their own thing if they were going to reach young girls. Feminism had a persistent PR problem, and not just among teenagers. Throughout the eighties and nineties, mass media continued to portray the women's movement as a crusade led by a few angry, man-hating women to bring down the family, the economy, and American life as we know it. A 1989
Time
magazine article claimed that “to the young, the movement that loudly rejected female stereotypes seems hopelessly dated.” And while
Time
is guilty of frequent exaggerated declarations that feminism is dead, it's true that by the time
Sassy
readers were in high school, the Second Wave's consciousness-raising sessionsâwomen-only get-togethers during which they traded truths about their livesâseemed hopelessly dorky. In a way, a commercial magazine with advertisements for eye shadow and Doc Martens was the perfect place for the
Sassy
staff to get out the message that girls were equal to boys, that the right to abortion was imperative, and that being smart was more important than being popular.
Sassy
was like a Trojan horse, reaching girls who weren't necessarily looking for a feminist message.
In some ways,
Sassy
defined itself by what it was not: no diets, no fawning coverage of teenybopper celebrities, and no talking down to its readers. But there were other areas that deserved a more proactive approach. Since the publication of
Our Bodies, Ourselves
, the women's movement had sought to educate women not only on sexual health, but on pleasure as well. The magazine's most obviously feminist-minded content that first year was sex education.
At the staff's very first editorial meeting, the editors universally agreed that providing their readers with sex education was a top priority. Says Karen, who penned the majority of the sex stories, “We knewâbecause we weren't that far from the demographic ourselvesâthat there was this real world of people under the age of nineteen and sex.” Meaning, they were having it. “And then there was this shiny, pretty, sweet-smelling teen-magazine world” that tried desperately to pretend like that wasn't happening.
Sexual mores were changing drastically in the late 1980s, and girls weren't having an easy time of it. The more casual attitude toward sex fostered in the sixties and seventies had fully permeated the culture, but the idea that you could have premarital sex if you wanted to transmogrified into the idea that you
should
have premarital sex, if you wanted to be cool. And in the home-alone era of latchkey kids, adolescents were spending more time than ever unsupervised. By the time of
Sassy
's debut, a girl trying
to negotiate the slippery slope of adolescent sexuality was pretty much on her own. “Adults weren't around, and they had no protection culturally,” says Caroline Miller. “They couldn't say, âMy dad will kill you, it's a sin.' If a guy came on to you and you didn't want to have sex, you had no ammunition except âI don't want to.' And you have to be very mature to say to a guy, âI don't want to.'” A lot of girls didn't know if they wanted to or not: How do you weigh concerns about your reputation against concerns about your own desire against concerns about alienating a potential love interest? Every sexual encounter was fraught with choices. “The patriarchy went away and we abandoned these thirteen-year-old girls and they really were, to some extent, without weapons in the arsenal,” says Miller.
And yet the specter of being called a slut was as strong as ever. (Many girls were so ambivalent about sex that they allowed themselves to be “swept away” by romance rather than plan for the loss of their virginityâthe subject of a September 1987 story in
Seventeen
. Another story was titled “When You've Gone Too Far.”) The simultaneous pressure on girls to have sex and to not have sex was a terrible double-bind. From 1970 to 1988, according to the Centers for Disease Control, the share of fifteen-year-old girls who were “sexually active” rose from 5 to 25 percent; among nineteen-year-olds, the share rose to 48 percent.
Certainly, pop culture was no help. “We felt at least one reason so many teens were having sex was that the media had successfully convinced them that losing their virginity would be the biggest moment of their lives,” reported Elizabeth in an article she later wrote for the
Utne Reader
. In fact,
Seventeen
,
Risky Business
, Madonna, and countless after-school specials were arguably implicated in the sexual confusion that ran rampant among teenagers. By making intercourse seem like such a big dealâwhether by insinuating that it should only be whispered about in hushed tones or that it was the raison d'être at Friday night's keggerâthe importance of a teenager's sexual status was blown way out of proportion. In Jane Austen books, the characters talk constantly of marriage; on MTV and in John Hughes movies, the chatter is always about sex. But while the generation weaned on erotically charged pop culture was more familiar with innuendo than were previous generations, there was still plenty of confusion as to how to prevent pregnancy and STDs.
Since the late 1960s, when Helen Gurley Brown introduced the notion of the sexually voracious Cosmo Girl, frank sex talk had been a frequent subject in women's magazines. Even in teen magazines, sex education was a staple, but it was dealt with in clinical language; an undercurrent of fear and foreboding prevailed. In the late 1980s, AIDS was being used as a scare tactic to get teenagers to remain abstinent. But clearly it wasn't working; the United States had (and still has) the highest teen-pregnancy rate in the Western world. The
Sassy
staff knew there was a void in their readers' sex education.
“Even without an orgasm, sex can be enjoyable,” was just one of the facts in the premier issue's “Losing Your Virginity” article. The piece offered anonymous accounts of various girls' first
times, some with serious boyfriends, some with one-night stands. According to Elizabeth,
Sassy
's strategy was to “provide more realistic accounts and leave the moral up to the teen.” For the piece, “we hunted down some of the most burning questions (you know, the type that make even Madonna blush) and found the answers for you.” It wasn't exactly the teen version of
Cosmopolitan
; the article answered clinical questions like “When do most girls and boys lose their virginity?” and “How should I guard against pregnancy, AIDS, and other sexually transmitted diseases?” and those with more emotional resonance like “Should I talk during sex?” and “How long will it take?”
But
Sassy
wasn't completely immune to rehashing the usual sex-ed lesson, as evidenced when Karen assured readers that “Love and sex go together.” But she went on to put her own personal twist on it when she further noted, “Sure, they exist separately, but they're better together (believe me).” “Many couples consider foreplay an important part of sexâeven an alternativeâand use it to extend and enhance sex ⦠It's a good way to relax and become stimulatedâespecially the first time, when you're likely to be nervous already,” advised the magazine, which also recommended using a lubricant if you're worried about intercourse being painful. The concept that girls could derive anything but discomfort and awkwardness from their first sexual encounters was unlike anything in any teen magazine prior (or since), and the idea that girls couldâand shouldâenjoy sex, educate themselves about sex, and talk about sex was a distinctly feminist notion.
In
The Wall Street Journal
, Sandra says that the first issue's articles, including the sex-ed story, were researched intensively in focus groups. “The teens,” Sandra reported, “said their parents would be happy for them to be getting that information, and glad they wouldn't have to do it themselves.” They were probably right: although 65 percent of American parents reported that they were in favor of comprehensive sex education that included information on birth control, the number of high schools that taught this kind of information (or, according to a 2001 Alan Guttmacher Institute report, “controversial” subjects like abortion and sexual orientation) decreased dramatically after Ronald Reagan signed the Adolescent Family Life Act in 1981. Instead, the federal government began investing in local programs to prevent teenage pregnancy by encouraging chastity and self-discipline.
Elizabeth recalls the office being flooded with feedback on “Losing Your Virginity” and for the frank “Help” column, which she edited. “I read all the reader mail, and I knew that there were a lot of dark things happening,” she says. “We got horrifying letters about incest. We got sweet, enchanting letters like, âMy sister has more breasts than I do.' They were grammatically incorrect, with smiley faces over the i's. But they were about girls being pressured to have sex, cutting themselves, throwing up every day after they ate. On little lined notebook paper we'd get tons and tons of mail.” It was clear to the
Sassy
staff that they had hit a nerve. Beyond a very real lack of information and resources, Elizabeth wrote in
Utne
,
“what was most disconcerting for us was the fear and shame these letters portrayed.”
Sassy
made an effort to address its readers' most persistent issues. In June 1988, an article titled “Getting Turned On” answered questions like “What Makes It Happen?” “What Does It Feel Like?” and “Am I Weird If I Don't Feel It?” The answer to the last one was “No. Neither are you a weirdo if you have constant daydreams about sex with Brian Bloom. (Well, if your fantasies are about Brian Bloom, you're walking a fine line.)”
The article ends on a typically
Sassy
note: “The key to understanding your own sexuality is knowing what you areâand aren'tâready for. Maybe you're ready to take your sexual feelings a step further by masturbating or having sex. Or maybe you're content with your Brian Bloom fantasies. Either way, remember there is no âright' decisionâexcept the one that you feel ready for.”
In addition to covering sexual health,
Sassy
also covered sexual orientation. In the second issue, the magazine ran an article titled “My Best Friend Died of AIDS,” which covered the life and death of a gay teenager. In July,
Sassy
tackled the issue of homosexuality again. “Laural and Lesli and Alex and Brian are your basic kids. They're dating. They go to movies and concerts. They fight over stupid things. They make up. They're sad sometimes. They're happy. And they're gay,” the tagline read. The piece portrays the two college-age couples as totally normal kids who love each other, struggle with parental disapproval, and go to B-52's concerts. “âStraight people are always asking “What do you do in bed?” ' says Alex. âWho says we even go to bed?'” And though there's some wink-wink sexual innuendoâ“âWe like doing physical things together, ' Laural says. âYeah,' Lesli says, raising her eyebrows lasciviously. âBesides that,' Laural says, slapping her hand”âthe piece focuses mostly on their relationship, not their sex lives. “The whole time Lesli is talking, Laural is holding her hand. These two are solid, stable,” writes Catherine.
But the piece also included some points that were probably harder for a lot of parents to swallow, like when Laural says, “You can have feelings for a woman or even make love to a woman once and it won't necessarily change your life; I mean, you won't necessarily be a lesbian.” Or when Alex complains that in suburbia, he is taunted with cries of, “You homo, you fag, you AIDS victim.”
Despite advertisers' concerns about
Sassy
's sexual content, the magazine was an immediate business success. It scored ads from Benetton, ArtCarved class rings, Cover Girl, and even Trojan condoms, making
Sassy
the first American teen magazine to accept condom ads and proving that its commitment to sex education extended beyond its health features. But the loving, humanistic portraits of gay teens made the already skittish advertisers increasingly nervous. “Sandra and Jane spent a lot of time educating them about why it was important to talk to teens this way and do these stories,” says Elizabeth. “Advertisers would say, âOkay, we'll try it out, take you at your word.'”