How Sassy Changed My Life (4 page)

BOOK: How Sassy Changed My Life
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In the days before the World Wide Web and reality television,
Sassy
was like
The Real World
and a blog rolled into one: readers who picked up the magazine for an interview with their favorite celebrity or were titillated by a frank sex coverline kept buying it month after month because they wanted to hear from their favorite staff members. “I liked how personal it was,” says Heather MacLean. “It was like a conversation with all these cool women every month.” “It was like reading a long, loving letter from your big sis,” says Max Weinberg. “It completely stood out from everything else, like there was actually a magazine out there that was designed for me,” says Alicia Peterson, “written by people I wanted to know, featuring people I wanted to be, and seeming like it was made by friends. It was reassuring to know there were grown-ups out there who ended up doing something really cool with their lives and making an amazing magazine that meant something.” Julie Gerstein agrees: “These girls were so snarky and witty and fun and you just knew that you would totally be friends with them if you lived in the same town.”
The magazine got masses of letters. “They weren't ‘Dear
Sassy
,' they were ‘Dear Neill,' ‘Dear Jane,' ‘Dear Christina,'” says Jane. Most subscribers had a “writer crush,” a
Sassy
staff member they most admired and emulated. It was the staff—not the actors or writers or models they covered—who were the stars.
Sometimes writing letters wasn't enough. Making a pilgrimage to the office and meeting the
Sassy
staff became a national pastime for readers. Peggy Lipton stopped by with her two
Sassy
-loving kids (by ex-husband Quincy Jones), Kidada and Rashida Jones, because Jane wanted to do a beauty story with the girls. “They sat in the art department with us and just sort of watched, and we explained to them what we did,” remembers Neill. But it wasn't just famous people's progeny who got to hang out at
Sassy
. “Kids would come in all the time,” says Neill. “And we made a point of being very open to it.”
To a lot of readers, the
Sassy
staff was as important as—or more important than—their real friends. “I turned to the writers and editors, who I knew by name, for support when the boys in my language-arts class made fun of my pairing a big tweed coat with a short purple skirt and green tights,” says Sarah Kowalski in an online
Sassy
eulogy. Millie di Chirico was just starting high school when she started reading
Sassy
. At that age, “The magazine was so personal it felt like a community, like people that you hung out with—that was very important. I was kind of an outsider type. I didn't have a lot of friends in school. You wanted to find your people.”
Sassy
, of course, vehemently dismissed the notion that the catty, claustrophobic, conformist halls of high school were as good as it got. The
staff were candid about their own high-school horror stories, and by writing freely about their own adult lives—days spent hanging out with one another and with the various celebs who stopped by the office, nights spent at concerts—they implicitly assured their readers that adult womanhood was something to look forward to, and that though they were outsiders now, they'd be insiders eventually.
“We definitely felt like we really cared about the readers, and we didn't want to hurt them the way other evil magazines had, the way that had been done to us,” says Christina. She adds, “The biggest dis on staff would be, ‘That person doesn't really care about the readers.'” It was “a competition of who cared most.”
“I think for a lot of the people who worked there, it had nothing to do with the glamour, the money,” says Jane. “We didn't make any money, anyway. It was really just about these girls. We weren't faking that we wanted to be there for them, we weren't faking that we were their friends. We
were
their friends.”
Though it was
Sassy
's honesty and authenticity that readers responded to so strongly, in fact, the staff members' personas were at least partially just that: personas. Jane wanted characters in the magazine because that's what they had at
Dolly
, and she worked really hard on getting each character exactly right. She didn't want to change their voices, but to “enhance their voice, if anything. Tell them, ‘Do more of that.'” Elizabeth says, “I think in a way it was hyperbolized.” Certainly, it wasn't made up. “I'm frighteningly well-adjusted,” says Karen. “You would be horrified at how well-adjusted I am. I was very much the grown-up, sensible one.” Still, she admits, “Did we hone in on one particular aspect of our personalities and really pump that up? Sure.” Even Christina wasn't exactly as she appeared. In real life, she wanted more freedom to write issue-oriented stories, but her persona was all about boys and celebrities, so that's what she covered.
“People like Karen and Christina were really beloved by readers,” says Mike. “They were like celebrities.” But if Karen, Christina, et al. were merely like celebrities, Jane was the real thing. The
Los Angeles Times
called her “queen of the prom.” “She's so
hot
,” Quincy Jones told
New York
magazine. The media made much ado about
Sassy
's young, charismatic, successful editor in chief, giving her full credit for the magazine's early success. “She really was good at developing a persona,” says Mary Kaye Schilling. Jane was comfortable on television and being chauffeured around in cars. She always knew the right thing to say in interviews (“Now I'm the popular kid I wasn't when I was sixteen,” she cooed to one reporter). During Jane's first month on the job, she had to prepare for one of many TV appearances. “She saw this suit that she wanted in a magazine, some pink suit, and she made Elizabeth call the
designer to get it, find out where there was one in her size and have it delivered. And I thought, ‘Who that young, in their first job, knows how to do that?'” says Mary Kaye. “I mean, she knew how to be a celebrity. And most celebrities know that instinctively, and none of us knew how to do that.”
Jane was an extremely charismatic leader. “Story-idea meetings at
Sassy
were amazing,” says Catherine. “Anything was possible. Jane made you feel like you could say the craziest thing in the world.” In the first issue, there was an advertorial, the “prove how well you know
Sassy
contest.” Jane asked Elizabeth to write the paragraph of copy, her first piece of real writing, and she sat at the typewriter sweating, working on it for an entire day. Elizabeth handed it in as Jane got in a car to catch a flight. “She called me from the airport, saying, ‘I love it, it's perfect,'” says Elizabeth. Though she would often make the writers go through as many as fifteen story drafts, she was careful to keep the authenticity of each of their voices. And she made each of them feel valued, littering their copy with lots of checkmarks and
ha!
s. She was also careful to let the rest of the staff know how good they were at their jobs.
And she ran the office like
Dolly
and other Australian magazines were run, which meant “it was not hierarchical at all. It was a very small staff, and it was very loose,” Jane says. But being a media darling wasn't always easy in such an egalitarian office. “She was in an interesting position,” Elizabeth says of Jane. “She was younger than everyone but me and Andrea. She was very supportive, but had a very strong idea of what she wanted.” She was also juggling a lot of different duties. According to Elizabeth, “She not only had to put together the magazine, she had to sell the magazine, and she had to sell and market herself as a personality.” Each day was divided between endless meetings with Sandra, or the business side, or the editorial team, or the art department. “There was no moment of her day that was unaccounted for,” says Elizabeth. “She barely got in a snack.”
None of this was easy for a twenty-four-year-old. “The creative part of it seemed very natural; I knew exactly what I wanted,” says Jane. She had never managed anyone other than an intern before, and now she was managing a whole group of people, some of whom were twice her age. In June 1988, just six months after the staff had officially started work, they all went to Sterling Forest in upstate New York for a staff retreat. It was supposed to be like camp. It began as a strategy meeting–cum–bonding session, with everyone making presentations on their positions. (“We had this room, and I had to stand up in front of everybody and talk about how I was going to tailor punctuation and grammar to the
Sassy
voice. And I remember just wanting to die,” says Mike, on his copyediting presentation.) But the retreat quickly devolved as staff members confronted Jane about a litany of small problems at the magazine. (They
couldn't have been too monumental, since no one seems to recall the specifics.) At one point, in the midst of hanging out, Jane had a panic attack and broke down sobbing. She finally had to leave.
“We used to fight like crazy,” says Neill, who, by all accounts, orchestrated the mini-mutiny. “We were allowed to; it was the structure. Everyone had a voice, and when everyone has a voice, it's mayhem.”
Feminism
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”—the industry name for recipe-, fashion-, and marriage counseling–heavy women's titles like
Ladies' Home Journal
,
Family Circle
, and
McCall's
. Because
Ms
. refused to offer “complementary copy”—stories to make you want to buy the products in the publication's ads—the 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 ‘Women'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 sessions—women-only get-togethers during which they traded truths about their lives—seemed 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 knew—because we weren't that far from the demographic ourselves—that 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, ‘My 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 ‘I don't want to.' And you have to be very mature to say to a guy, ‘I 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 virginity—the 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 deal—whether by insinuating that it should only be whispered about in hushed tones or that it was the raison d'être at Friday night's kegger—the 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 sex—even an alternative—and use it to extend and enhance sex … It's a good way to relax and become stimulated—especially 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 could—and should—enjoy 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, ‘My 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 are—and aren't—ready 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 ‘right' decision—except 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. “‘Straight people are always asking “What do you do in bed?” ' says Alex. ‘Who says we even go to bed?'” And though there's some wink-wink sexual innuendo—“‘We like doing physical things together, ' Laural says. ‘Yeah,' Lesli says, raising her eyebrows lasciviously. ‘Besides that,' Laural says, slapping her hand”—the 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, ‘Okay, we'll try it out, take you at your word.'”
BOOK: How Sassy Changed My Life
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