Romance novels

Confession: I used to read my mom's romance novels. It was back in middle school, and I wasn't too discriminating when it came to titillation--a Victoria's Secret catalog or even a particularly steamy issue of TV Guide (the issue featuring Teri Hatcher in her "Lois and Clark" heyday was a favorite) were more than enough to send my hormones into a frenzy. Most of the books on Mom's bookshelf were classics of the Jane Austen variety, but she had one or two trashy romances I would break out late night. So I was disturbingly excited when a publicist recently sent me a copy of Susan Mallery's new romance novel Sunset Bay. Would all of the heaving and throbbing still do the trick, or have I actually done some growing up over the last fifteen years?

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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? Let's take a closer look, shall we? Read More »