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Recently in Salon Media

Column
Riding shotgun
Five years ago Thursday, a white Bronco rolled onto an L.A. freeway -- and ran over the barriers between the media and everybody else.
By James Poniewozik
[06/17/99]

Media
Extry! Extry! Getcha screen legends here!
The American Film Institute's silly list of "50 Greatest Screen Legends" plunks that august body into the same leaky boat as the Letterman Top 10 list.
By Nikki Finke
[06/16/99]

Column
Caviar culture
How long will the masses be able to afford mass media?
By James Poniewozik
[06/14/99]

Brand X
Budweiser: Bad for your waistline -- and bad for America
Dick Morris is telling his clients to start running political-style hit attack ads. Here's Salon's exclusive look at the first crop.
By Ruth Shalit
[06/14/99]

Alt
Jar Jar mania must die!
The Village Voice takes Jar Jar theorizing too far; a quasi-national alternative glossy editor's cri de coeur; new theories on love and marriage.
By Jenn Shreve
[06/11/99]

Complete archives for Media

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These icons are meant to convey women's yin and yang, their blend of strength and femininity, and in various mutations they appear in the pages of Bitch, Bust, Moxie and Ms., four magazines that provide alternatives for women fed up with the homogenized, commercial offerings on the checkout stands. Like their glossy nemeses, each promotes a canopy vision of womanhood -- complete with artists, products and lifestyle choices -- that it assumes its readers share.

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Ms., June/July issue

For the longest time, it seemed Ms. magazine's target audience was Gloria Steinem. The leader of the anti-Glamour pack, this editorial lovechild of the fledgling feminist movement first hit the stands in 1972 and has been publishing its advertising-free content on and off ever since. Ms. returned to the stands in April after a two-issue hiatus with a makeover and the mandate "Wake up and smell the estrogen" screaming from its cover. The goal was clear: Bring younger-than-50 women into the fold, or shrivel like a decaying ovary. The content is polished -- save for the occasional tiresome hail to the goddess -- and a broad range of topics is covered: women-centered news from abroad and home, money and the final year of the Lilith tour. "Facing the World," a feature by Liz Welch about a victim of acid-burning, a horrible practice in Bangladesh in which jilted men mutilate the faces of the women who've rejected them, is shocking in the right way, the way that spurs you to action. Susan Douglas' searching feature on a case where custody was granted to a father because the mother worked long hours is emblematic of the magazine's own grappling with unexpected consequences of feminism's success. Ms. is still a white, upper-class, educated woman's magazine, but at least it's trying to open its mind, which is more than you can say for Vogue.

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Bust Summer/Fall 1998

Bust is subtitled "The Voice of the New Girl Order." It's an appropriate description. The writers who fill these pages are first-wave feminism's rebellious daughters. They've reaped the benefits of their predecessors' efforts, but have no reverence for them, choosing instead to celebrate the ways that they're different from the Woman Power set. Bust girls are personal without the political; almost every article begins with an "I" or a "me." They celebrate sex, lipstick, other girls and pink, vinyl hot pants. Bust girls rely on emotional arguments rather than intellectual ones. Overall, it's a fun read. The raucous, snarky Sex issue firmly established these third-wavers' sex-positive ideology. But Bust also takes on a boosterish tone that's annoyingly similar to what you read in YM or Seventeen. Like its glossy sisters, this zine tells you what a girl should like, wear, listen to and read. I may indeed find Bust's version of young womanhood more in tune with my own beliefs, but I resent their assumption that I do.

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Bitch No. 10

It's hard to diss a zine. Nobody gets paid the big bucks to produce these things; they're labors of love. But it must be said that Bitch is a miserable read. Self-described as a "Feminist Response to Pop Culture," Bitch isn't concerned with real women, just the fake ones in TV shows, movies, books and other publications. The result is a lot of predictable rants against obvious targets. I don't need a magazine to tell me that advertising is sexist, that men's magazines are full of anti-women crap or that films featuring violence against women are popular (all these stories are in the recent issue). I imagine the woman who relishes Bitch also throws tomatoes at billboards because the models don't have hairy pits. Now I hate Kate Moss as much as the next woman-shaped woman, and a good rant against the patriarchy is fine now and then -- but Lord almighty, enough already! A magazine that defines itself solely by what it hates gives its enemy far too much credit and leaves itself with a void for a personality.

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Moxie Spring 1999

Reading Moxie, "For the Woman Who Dares" (dares what? I wonder, but there is no answer), reminds me of "Kumbaya" around a campfire; it's a feel-good zine. Its ideal woman is too old to read Bust, too happy to read Bitch and probably prefers gardening to reading newspapers, so she's not big on Ms. The Spring 1999 issue focuses on role models, with lots of warm-fuzzy profiles and essays. This doesn't mean it's all schmaltz. In many ways, Moxie incorporates some of the better elements of all three zines. It looks a lot like Ms. and has a diversity of stories -- profiles, pop culture commentary, essays. Moxie provides some younger, Bust-y perspectives as well as a few Bitch-like rants. Still, Moxie is a little like a well-worn shoe -- dull. Women are great, yeah, yeah, yeah. Here are some great women, yeah, yeah, yeah. It's nice, but it's not the full picture.

Some women are bitches. Most of us pick our noses. Many women diet even though we hate being told we're not thin enough. Some women fight; we also bond. Some dress as witches on Halloween; others dress like fairies. We're gay, straight, cosmetically altered, unshaven, cussing, non-smoking, fat, thin, bow-legged, politically correct, anti-feminist, orgasmic, frigid, hormonal, tri-nippled, partying, homebody creatures. Can one magazine cover all that? Probably not, which is why despite their shortcomings it's wonderful to see these four challengers, good and bad, to the Condé Nast stereotype -- a lady without much personality at all, but oh what delicious ta-tas.

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