How Sassy Changed My Life (7 page)

BOOK: How Sassy Changed My Life
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Celebrity
One day in the summer of 1990, the publicist for the legendary New York noise-rock band Sonic Youth called Christina. To promote their latest album,
Goo
, the band requested press in two publications:
The New York Times Magazine
and
Sassy
. The band had been fans of
Sassy
for a while. “I remember thinking how I wished there was a magazine like
Sassy
when I was a young girl,” says bassist Kim Gordon.
Christina told the publicist that Mike wanted to do the interview, but Sonic Youth had other plans. “She called me back and said, ‘No, they don't want some guy, they want you,'” remembers Christina.
Sonic Youth has always been known for their innovation in the way they play music. But the real genius of the band has been their ability to spot talent, forging relationships with the coolest artists of the moment: handpicking opening bands like Nirvana, featuring designer Marc Jacobs's clothes in their “Sugar Kane” video, and using artists like Mike Kelley, Gerhard Richter, and Raymond Pettibon for their album art. By seeking out
Sassy
, Sonic Youth not only established the magazine
as a vanguard for underground music long before Nirvana broke to mainstream audiences, but enshrined Christina as one of the premier music critics of the early nineties (her taste was so revered that she was once offered a job in A&R for a record label).
“Sonic Youth on $100 a Day,” Christina's interview, features her shopping with the band at a downtown flea market. “I remember thinking, ‘I'm interviewing Sonic Youth, I have to have really good music-journalist questions, so I look like I know what I'm doing,'” Christina recalls. But as soon as she started asking Kim Gordon how the band got together, Gordon groaned and asked, “Do we have to answer these kinds of questions?” So Christina changed direction and asked her what her favorite color was (it's blue). “Kim was so much happier after that,” Christina says. In a nod to the
Tiger Beat
school of teen idolatry, the entire interview is made up of questions about the band's favorite colors (Steve: “green and gray together”), what they were like in high school (Kim: “read Nietszche in class to rebel”), what their least favorite band is (Lee: “Stone Roses and Happy Mondays”), and what they look for in a girl (Thurston: “roundness”).
Sassy
had an ambivalent relationship to celebrity from the very beginning. In the second issue, Karen wrote a story called “Dating a Rock Star.” Not only does she make it seem tedious (long hours on a tour bus, band drama), she even makes the sex seem bad. Other reasons to avoid metalheads and troubadours: “There's the smudged mascara (he's always too exhausted to take it off before bed); the bad case of the breakouts (from all that stage makeup); the pale, sickly skin (because he's only really awake when it's dark outside); the flabby, out-of-shape body from too much Howard Johnson food and not enough time to use that new rowing machine on the tour bus.” That same issue featured another article by Karen, on a certain redheaded teen pop sensation, called “How Tiffany Ruined My Weekend,” wherein she gripes that she spent the day “waiting for a call from a girl whose only New Year's resolution was to grow her own natural fingernails.”
In a 1989 ode to Debbie Gibson, Christina notes, in an aside, “I thought she looked good, but then she put on this heinous denim jacket … I say this as a friend offering constructive advice.” With every issue the magazine seemed to become less self-conscious; soon, Christina was regularly taking on the cultural bread-and-butter of teen magazines, dismissing “Top 40 hell” and huffing that “the creativity of the major networks leaves me breathless.” She connected her hatred of individual celebrities to the inanity of the star-making machine: “What is wrong with our society that we elevate sleazoids to celebrity status, take their opinions seriously,
and
make them rich?” she asked.
That sentiment was a part of a June 1992 article, a celebrity snark manifesto of sorts, called
“Why All the Celebrity Worship?” in which Christina spews forth her trademark vitriol about
Beverly Hills, 90210
's resident hunk Luke Perry (
Sassy
had a deep love-hate relationship with the hugely popular teen drama). “What has [he] done to redeem humanity? At press time, nothing,” she writes, then calls her fellow teen mags “mindless pawns in the celeb-making game.” She wonders about
Sassy
's relationship to the entertainment world, since the magazine covered celebrities as much as their competitors did. “Either we are part of the problem, or we are making fun of the whole thing. It depends on how you look at it.” That kind of tortured relationship with celebrity became the magazine's signature: celebrating pop culture and hating it at the same time.
Suffice it to say, there was no other teen magazine out there indulging in this kind of postmodern criticism. But Christina's articles could have appeared in another publication that was enjoying its heyday around the same time as
Sassy
:
Spy
. “The New York Monthly” was a hugely influential magazine that was unafraid of the consequences of its celebrity bashing (they once featured a nude photo of pre-Governator Arnold Schwarzenegger next to a picture of his father's Nazi membership card).
Sassy
and
Spy
, along with
The Village Voice
,
Spin
, and
7 Days
, were part of a mini-revolution that was happening in magazines' treatment of celebrities in the late eighties and early nineties. Many young journalists working at these publications had graduated from small liberal-arts colleges where low culture was a subject of scholarly inquiry. And a revolution was happening in pop culture itself: comedian Sandra Bernhard was also deconstructing the celebrity machine in her one-woman show
Without You I'm Nothing
. Even Bernhard's then best friend, Madonna, was analyzing her own fame in her 1991 documentary
Truth or Dare
.
Regardless of outside influence, Christina thinks
Sassy
's tone was set by the celebrity handlers. “I think I was just annoyed at the way I was being treated by the publicists,” she says. Part of her job covering entertainment for
Sassy
was to take handlers' calls. But she also edited the fiction and wrote “What Now” and two or three additional articles a month. So she usually didn't have time to call publicists back. Why bother? If they yelled at her on her answering machine, it made good fodder for the rest of the office to laugh at. Unfortunately for magazine editors, celebrities were outselling models and increasingly becoming standard for magazine covers in the early nineties—which meant that the dreaded publicists gained more and more power.
Sassy
needed to sell at the newsstand, too, and that meant a little more celebrity and publicist ass-kissing was in order. “I was having this visceral, juvenile reaction to it,” Christina says. So she decided she wouldn't sugarcoat what stars said or did during interviews, or pretend that everything went well. “And,” she shrugs, “nobody stopped me.”
So a January 1993 cover line reads: “Shannen Doherty, Pathetic Loser.” Christina calls Tori Spelling “Miss Plastic Surgery” in the pages of “What Now.” The abrasive Kennedy is called the “most hated MTV VJ” on a cover, and the article
itself is simply titled “Deserving of Our Hatred?”
Melrose Place
star Andrew Shue, according to Maureen Callahan, a writer who joined the staff in 1993, “isn't really an apathetic, dim-witted underachiever. He just plays one on TV.”
Surprisingly, the most infamous of
Sassy
's celebrity smackdowns wasn't written by Christina. Mary Ann Marshall, a writer who started in late 1992, penned “Something Does Not Compute,” an interview with ditzy Saturday morning TV star Tiffani-Amber Thiessen. Instead of fawning over the brain-dead former beauty queen,
Sassy
refers to her as “
Saved by the Bell
's Demi-Bimbo”—right on the cover—and makes fun of her when she says she likes “a lot of Shakespeare's lesser-known works … like
Hamlet
.” Mary Ann writes, “Oh, I hadn't heard of that one.” You can practically see her eyes roll. Reading the article felt like gossiping with your meanest friend. When Tiffani-Amber points out that she was valedictorian of her class of “forty-five, fifty kids,” Mary Ann responds—italics her own—“No, she's smarter than
all those people
?”
Tiffani-Amber Thiessen's publicist, Matt Labov, wasn't exactly pleased with the interview. He sent
Sassy
a scathing letter that stated he would
like to go on record with my outrage and disbelief. With any feature interview, talent can be subjected to a fair share of non-positivity, but this “feature” not only crosses that line but plants a flag in the ground proudly saying “negativity.” This kind of press goes far beyond the acceptable motives of keeping readers and advertisers happy; it reveals a hidden agenda of mudslinging and terrorist tactics. It's what we generally expect from tabloids, a category into which this kind of writing puts your magazine, a category we will not work with.
Sassy
published his diatribe under the headline “But Shouldn't Bimbodom Be a Crime?”
Labov's ire notwithstanding, the profile was an instant classic with readers. Amy from Hudson, Wyoming, wrote in, “You verified that she is a Marlboro Lights–smoking, complete fake, wannabe, poser, overrated, Brian Austin Green–dating, asinine beast from hell! Oh, yeah, and she obviously has too much air in her head for a brain! Tiffani-Amber, if you're reading this, you're a waste of landmass for a real-life nineties woman.”
Instead of feeling disillusioned by hearing the warts-and-all truth about their favorite celebs,
Sassy
's readers delighted in the magazine's bitchiness, perhaps because Tiffani-Amber's type—the pretty, popular girl who's a little dumb, a little mean, but takes herself very seriously—was instantly recognizable. Mary Ann's unapologetic loathing of her was the wish-fulfillment of anyone who had ever weathered high school.
Sassy
's trademark cranky celebrity coverage rang true; Jessica Nordell, in a open letter to Jane Pratt in the Harvard
Crimson
, writes that part of the joy of
Sassy
“was that it applauded the idea that movie
stars are little more than pretty faces and talking heads, and that real people doing real things were a lot more worthy of our attention. Isn't the fact that we get excited when a star says something coherent an example of the exception that proves the rule?”
On the other hand, Jane says, “We were very excited about the people who were worth being excited about. When Christina would fly off to interview Johnny Depp, we would literally be jumping up and down.” Jane was also particularly excited about R.E.M., and made constant reference to her friendship with the band. (They were such good friends that singer Michael Stipe felt it necessary to tell her that he didn't think
Sassy
was such a great name for a teen magazine “because it had the word
ass
in it and if you change the first two letters it says
pussy
.”) When singer Stipe would telephone during a staff meeting, Jane would always take the call. “I remember us all sitting on the floor. She's sitting at her desk and would turn around and be like, ‘Hiiiii' and curl up,” says Jessica Vitkus, who started working at
Sassy
in 1989. Later Jane gushed in her “Diary” column about appearing in the band's video for “Shiny Happy People.”
Perhaps the best example of this symbiotic relationship appeared in the December 1989 issue, where all copies of
Sassy
included a flexidisc—a very thin, bendable plastic record—of R.E.M. covering Syd Barrett's “Dark Globe.” “We had wanted to do a flexidisc for a long time. Because I was friends with R.E.M., I just asked them if they would give us one,” says Jane. Paying for the rights to the song would have cost about $25,000—way over the budget of cash-strapped Lang Communications—so the band covered the expense as a favor to Jane. The record became an instant collector's item. On the day the issue came out, Jane was walking by Tower Records on Fourth Street and saw that they had sold almost every copy of the issue. She was elated—until she saw a trashcan full of
Sassy
s right outside. Fans of the band—but not the magazine—had torn out the flexidisc and ditched the publication.
Sassy
fans loved it, too, though. “We were introducing R.E.M. to the younger generation. At the time that
Sassy
came out, their audience was more college-age,” says Jane. “We were bringing in the new kids on the block—the teen girls.”
Beyond bringing more fans to celebrities who didn't necessarily target teens,
Sassy
could also help change the images of more mainstream stars. Actress Mayim Bialik was first discovered playing the kid version of Bette Midler in the weeper
Beaches
and went on to star in the sitcom
Blossom
, where she was seen as just another cute kid actress. She was a longtime
Sassy
fan and was thrilled to meet Christina, who saw something more in her. She loved Bialik's quirky thrift-shop style and atypical Hollywood looks;
Sassy
went on to feature her on the cover of their November 1992 issue.
Bialik had appeared in plenty of other magazines, which always had the same attitude: that celebrities could do or say no wrong. “They would write that you're the sweetest person on the planet no matter what,” she says. The staff at
Sassy
, she says, “interpreted people as they were and not as their teen audience would want to see them.” In other words,
Sassy
was discriminating. “We wouldn't just profile somebody because they had a popular movie out,” says Mike. “It had to be somebody we liked and respected.”
It felt like the bond between celebrities and
Sassy
was real, not orchestrated. In the article “How
Sassy
Changed My Life” in the March 1993 fifth-anniversary issue, various stars gush about the magazine. Courtney Love says, “When I first saw
Sassy
, I got really jealous of teenage girls 'cause all I had was yucky
Teen
magazine and white, white, white
Seventeen
magazine. If I had
Sassy
as a teen I'm sure I would have turned out with a stronger moral fiber, but I probably wouldn't have started a band. If I had
Sassy
, I would probably be teaching retarded children.” Mayim Bialik, bands Ween and Sonic Youth, MTV VJ Tabitha Soren, Bratmobile's Erin Smith, designers Todd Oldham and Anna Sui, and director John Waters offered similarly heartfelt rhapsodies.
BOOK: How Sassy Changed My Life
2.27Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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