So long, Playgirl: A eulogy & where women's porn goes wrong

The big news in publishing today is that Playgirl the magazine is sadly, no more. (Although I had a sneaking suspicion they were going downhill when Popcrunch reported that editors asked Spencer Pratt to pose for the mag. Hahaha...barf.) Now, now, not to worry fans, you can still find pics of your favorite oiled down beef cakes like that hot torso above on their blog, so don't despair. Still, this landmark occasion in magazine publishing history has got me contemplating why porn rags geared towards women just don't seem to sell that well in the first place.

It's not that chicks don't like porn. Many of us do. Like, a lot. But there is a reason why Playboy continues to reign as a bleached blonde, double D-sized multi-million dollar empire, while its sad, dumpy little sister Playgirl has always floundered in comparison, and not so surprisingly, always managed to attract a large constituency of gay men to its muscle-laden centerfolds. Perhaps the sophisticated lady of good taste desires I don't know, a slightly more subtle touch than say, an airbrushed image of Mario Lopez spread nude on a fur rug?

The only decent examples of magazines I've ever seen that were specifically aimed at eh, whetting women's sexual appetites were Viva, a classy, 70s-era Penthouse spin off that featured premium contributors like Joyce Carol Oates and Helmut Newton, a fashion editor fresh off the boat from London named Anna Wintour, (I sh*t you not), and highly narrative, cheeky visuals shot from behind a softly purring Vaseline blurred lens. In some of these more memorable episodes, a tense Victorian-styled couple played a game of strip tease on a picnic blanket until they were naked and caught in the throes of extroverted passion, and one more edgy, fashiony display showed page after page of men's bulging crotches, a policeman, a cowboy, and on and on. They were witty, sexy, and smartly nestled between articles ranging from beauty tips to political commentary to fiction. Ah, them must've been the days. (Then again, working there meant Bob Guccione would be your boss, but still...) Sadly, it was too good to last, and shuttered in 1980, making way for um, silence. More cocaine?

During the far more recent early 00s, a couple of hip Brooklyn-based chicks dreamed up Sweet Action (see their sad, abandoned Myspace page here), a modest if not ambitious in spirit girly mag that featured full frontal action pictorials in the old is new skinny-boy-with-tattoos-and-a-wistful-glare style that American Apparel did not invent but has made so ubiquitous. But alas, apart from existing as yet another ephemeral hipster commodity, it never quite caught on, or more importantly, attained the funding consistent money shots require.

But back to the original question of why porn for men proliferates while women's consistently flails. I guess the obvious answer is that besides enduring, outdated social constructions, men tend to be more visually oriented when it comes to sexual fantasizing, women a bit more cerebral, and guys, I don't mean for that to sound condescending. (We could go into all the various studies on that notion, but I'll save that for another post.) Women's fantasies, traditionally, come in word form (hello Wifey by Judy Blume!) and sometimes, a more physical aid if ya know what I mean, is needed. I'll tell ya what doesn't get most women off, and that's pictures of gay boy toys that look like they'd rather spend the afternoon bromancing with the dudes in the gym than in bed ravishing you.

And that my friends, is what, like parents in a Fresh Prince song, Playgirl just don't understand.

Still, let's pour some out for yet another representation of female pornography to bite the dust. PG, we'll miss you(-ish).