Reading with Dick and Jane

From: Katrina Onstad
To: Rachel Giese
Subject: Esquire’s Sexiest Woman Alive

Hi Rachel,

Did ya hear? Esquire has finally blown the lid off the worst-kept secret in celebritydom: Scarlett Johansson is a babe. I know you’ve been waiting with bated breath, speculating in your diary — excuse me, blog; I just dated myself — as to whom exactly is the Sexiest Woman Alive. For two years, Esquire has done this slow striptease unveiling of the victor (victim?), and now, after six months of body parts and soft-porn arty trailer park images, the committee has anointed Miss Scarlett. (How many times a week does she have to deal with Miss Scarlett jokes, do you think?)

I have such mixed feelings about the whole enterprise. Obviously, it’s quite odious to cut up a woman’s body month by month, and defuse that reality with text that claims it’s all a big celebration of womanhood — ick. But the weird thing is how closely I’ve been following the reveal, issue to issue (good marketing, Esquire), since I’m clearly not the audience. Yes, I am a magazine junkie, but increasingly, I find something in men’s magazines that’s lacking in women’s magazines. I prefer GQ and Esquire to most fashion mags. And then the hacked-up Johansson thing happens, and I think I’m losing my mind to pay money for this stuff.

All of which is to kick off our little exchange by asking: Why are we, two smart (if I may say so) women, buying men’s magazines?

From: Rachel Giese
To: Katrina Onstad
Subject: Esquire’s Sexiest Woman Alive

Hey Katrina,

Well, I’m just spitballing here, but one reason might be printed right there on the cover of Esquire: Women We Love, one of Esky’s regular features. Sure, sure, sure, it’s usually some impossibly bodacious hottie in her panties. But the magazine makes an attempt to not be entirely skeevy about it by celebrating a gal’s other merits too: feistiness, smarts, strength. A.J. Jacobs’s profile of Johansson is totally pervy, but in the vein of a nerdy loser fantasizing about the dirty-sexy-cool girl who mops the floor with him. Too often Esquire loses me with its compensatory macho bravado — editors, we know most of your contributors spent a lot of time writing code for their Commodore 64s in high school; there’s no point in pretending they’re a bunch of studs — so I don’t want to overstate my praise. But I will say this for Esquire: aside from pop feminist ’zines like Bust, or the aspirational-inspirational O, when have you ever come across a mainstream women’s magazine that claims to love women? There’s no Women We Love in Glamour or Vogue. Maybe “Women Whose Bodies, Money and Lifestyle We Covet.” Or “Women Who Make Us Feel Crappy About Ourselves Because They Have No Cellulite.” Or “Women Who Infuriate Us Because They Make All Women Seem Helpless and Vacuous.”

From: Katrina Onstad
To: Rachel Giese
Subject: Esquire’s Sexiest Woman Alive

Dude,

It’s true: Esquire has this feature, 10 Things You Don’t Know About Women, and I find that I read it through the lens of a man reading it, and I’m usually psyched to imagine them sopping up this info. These women — starlets, mostly, but sometimes authors, artists — are being direct and fierce, telling men what they want. (This month I like: “Go for the girl who can eat a proper meal. If she’s passionate about food, you’ll most likely be fortunate in other venues.”) What’s the equivalent of this treat-me-right, Pat Benatar-influenced strong woman voice in fashion magazines?

From: Rachel Giese
To: Katrina Onstad
Subject: Esquire’s Sexiest Woman Alive

Bro,

I don’t know if there is one. Here’s the big problem. Men’s magazines are written to make men feel good about themselves. Women’s magazines are written to make you feel like there is something — many things — wrong with you that need fixing. Women’s magazines are really heavy on advice, which is intended to come across as “girlfriendy.” But after a while I wonder why the editors think I’m such a moron that I need to be told the correct way to apply blush in every single issue? It’s not that men’s magazines don’t offer advice, but the tone is different. It can be funny and sharp, for instance, such as GQ’s The Style Guy column by Glenn O’Brien. And the tone of the advice is like: “Dude, if you learn how to iron a shirt/mix a martini/fix a tire/cook a meal, you are so gonna get laid!” With women’s mags, it’s like: “Honey, if you lose the saddlebags, stop acting so needy and tweeze properly, there’s a chance you won’t die alone.”

From: Katrina Onstad
To: Rachel Giese
Subject: Esquire’s Sexiest Woman Alive

Babe,

Ouch. That is it, isn’t it? In fact, the phrase “Die Alone” could be in the headlines of most of these magazines: “Stressed Out Skin? Die Alone!” “He’s Not Happy in Bed? Die Alone!” There is no sense of play in bad women’s magazines. Esquire feels like a lark, but the stakes are so high in Allure et al. What’s fun about inadequacy?

OK, we’ve been talking about service stories, but what about the features journalism in these magazines?

From: Rachel Giese
To: Katrina Onstad
Subject: Esquire’s Sexiest Woman Alive

Girlfriend,

Again, there’s a gap. Men’s mags like Esquire and GQ run at least three big features on politics, sports, culture, travel, etc., in every issue. Women’s mags just don’t put the same kind of investment into feature writing. Celebrity profiles, yes. Political and social issues, not so much. To be fair, there are exceptions. Any standout features for you recently in women’s mags?

From: Katrina Onstad
To: Rachel Giese
Subject: Esquire’s Sexiest Woman Alive

Sistah,

Though one of of the smarter women's magazines, Glamour Magazine still touts "girlfriendy" advice. (Condé Nast Publications)

Actually, I think you sent me a link to a decent piece in Glamour about fertility anxiety a couple of months ago. Glamour tries to position itself as a smarter alternative to the fluffiness of most women’s magazines, but even there you would never see a piece like the big article on Bob Woodward in GQ this month, or a recent story on the 25 Most Stylish Movies. Men of accomplishment are frequently put in fashionable situations in men’s magazines, but in women’s magazines, the accomplishment is being fashionable in the first place. Women over 40? Absent.

BUT — I picked up Vogue for this assignment, a magazine I used to love and abandoned due to overdose on the hostile-hairless-robot esthetic, and I was psyched to find a massive piece on Condoleeza Rice by Julia Reed, and a great story about Japanese architect Kazuyo Sejima. It’s that mix that most women’s magazines miss; the bounce between high and low obsessions (the Top Totes stuff still matters to me, without shame).

From: Rachel Giese
To: Katrina Onstad
Subject: Esquire’s Sexiest Woman Alive

Chica,

Exactly. Three cheers for Vogue and Glamour for running those features when they do, but I think a lot of women — not just our cranky army of two — want more. As for fashion coverage, I find that often women’s magazines are either teeth-achingly earnest (the demise of the Fendi baguette bag as global crisis) or just uninspired. The style section of the New York Times Magazine is often more creative in how it covers fashion than most fashion magazines. Part of the problem is that women’s mags are so reliant on the fashion industry for ad revenue — meaning not only can’t they bite the French-manicured hand that feeds them, but they also take their cues from advertising. And nothing sells like fear: you are a loser if you don’t buy this purse, sweater, perfume, jacket, pair of shoes. Meanwhile, because men’s mags make a lot of money from car, liquor and tech advertising, they can take a more irreverent approach to fashion.

From: Katrina Onstad
To: Rachel Giese
Subject: Esquire’s Sexiest Woman Alive

Toots,

Right, and both Esquire and GQ try to apply that irreverent tone to celebrity and arts coverage, too, but sometimes it’s a bit much. All that looka-me-irony in Tom Junod’s post-modern profiles, and A.J. Jacobs’s photo montage deconstruction of Miss Scarlett (twice in one e-mail exchange!); it’s still just slobbering over cool kids. The arts writing in Vogue is way more interesting just by virtue of not loving its own cleverness.

From: Rachel Giese
To: Katrina Onstad
Subject: Esquire’s Sexiest Woman Alive

Homegirl,

My favourite thing about Vogue is its unabashed faith in its own superiority. Before I read it, I feel like I’m supposed to say, “I’m not worthy” and wash my hands before touching its glossy pages. While Glamour and Allure aim for the cozy, just-us-girls vibe of a brunch scene from Sex and the City, and GQ and Esquire try to meld the slick of the Rat Pack with the rush of ESPN, Vogue still clings to the arbiter-of-everything spirit of Diana Vreeland. And if other women’s mags took some of its sang-froid assurance and threw in some fun, we wouldn’t have had to have this conversation at all. Which isn’t to say I haven’t enjoyed every minute of it.

From: Katrina Onstad
To: Rachel Giese
Subject: Esquire’s Sexiest Woman Alive

Seniorita,

Ditto. I’m off to read the Economist and cleanse myself of this conversation. Or maybe I’ll just go shopping ...