How Sassy Changed My Life (13 page)

Zeises is not the only fan who feels betrayed. John Leland calls hipness “a strategy in the face of terror”—and the high-school years can no doubt be terrifying. But this idea of hipness was a strategy that girls could turn on one another.
Sassy
paid a lot of lip service to the notion of being yourself, but this message felt to some like it came with the caveat that you could be yourself as long as your true self was really cool according to the magazine's standards. “
Sassy
had its low points. While they championed the black-wearing, artistic non-cheerleader, they did it at the expense of the bubbly yet still smart cheerleader,” says fan Liz Menoji. In the early years,
Sassy
's endless stories excoriating beauty pageants and sororities felt like a huge victory for girls whose worst nightmare was playing the pop tart. But sometimes
Sassy
cast not just the institutions, but also the people who participated in them, as the enemy.
And while the staff often boasted of their open-mindedness and encouraged similar behavior from the magazine's readers,
Sassy
could, in fact, be really judgmental in its devotion to this ideal. The staff singled out
90210
star Shannen Doherty as an object of their derision because of her hammy acting, but also because of her Republican leanings.
Sassy
's staff was certainly entitled to (and for the most part beloved for) their political views, but for a magazine that celebrated the liberated, experimental teen-girl worldview, this could be seen as a touch of tunnel vision.
But you weren't immune even if you were a card-carrying member of the Democratic party who volunteered at Planned Parenthood and had her sights set on a decidedly liberal East Coast college. As Zeises attests, in the later years
Sassy
could equate how you looked and what you listened to with the kind of person you were—and that's where things became increasingly problematic. There's Chloë Sevigny, for instance, who was always held up as a paragon of sassiness in the magazine—but it seems as if her sassiness was derived entirely from her look, as seen in a February 1993 “About Face” column, where she was praised for cropping her ultra-long hair in favor of a hip, Mia Farrow–esque pixie cut. Similarly, a September 1991 article called “Primal Beauty” celebrates body piercings (including Jane's nose ring) and tattoos used as marks of individualism. The unspoken idea was that if you didn't conform to these supposedly daring fashion and beauty statements, which were associated with
Sassy
's liberated paradigm, then you must not be cool.
The question of whether they were cool enough for their favorite magazine still looms large in some readers' minds. “I was a girl banished into not just the suburbs but the outskirts of the suburbs, and had access to very little,” says reader Kendra Gaeta. “I had a single mom and my life
didn't feel urban enough to identify with what was cool, nor was I privileged enough to buy what I was seeing.”
Sassy
was a very middle- and upper-class magazine—a junior version of the bourgeois bohemian culture popularized by David Brooks in his book
Bobos in Paradise: The New Upper-Class and How They Got There
—in some ways more so than
Seventeen
, which often ran features on ways to make money over the summer or on proper dress for your first job, and routinely featured less elite colleges than those discussed in
Sassy
's pages. For all its liberal leanings and efforts to show a more multicultural view of teen life, the magazine still celebrated a white indie culture whose priority was never about making ends meet.
In a certain way, this kind of underground culture that
Sassy
was so enamored of was in reach and thus inclusive—thrift-store clothes, cheap cups of coffee, and used record bins were hardly expensive or hard to come by—but for the average self-conscious teen girl, it might be difficult to take on that lifestyle without ridicule. Marla Tiara, who grew up in a small town in Massachusetts and was a
Sassy
intern, always skipped the fashion pages. “I thought I couldn't wear that stuff. If I wore anything that wasn't a Benetton rugby shirt, I would be made fun of for five weeks. In high school I kept my head down and wanted to blend in.”
And
Sassy
encouraged its readers to see the world in similarly black-and-white terms. Like Zeises's experience with her fellow RPI staff, some girls felt that they couldn't live up to the standard, and felt like exiles from yet another community. And some of them blame
Sassy
for condoning this girl vs. girl behavior. While girls revered
Sassy
for telling the truth about celebrities—however unflattering that truth might be—the magazine's own inherent cattiness encouraged a similar outlook from its readers. And while it could be argued that prefab idols like Tiffany, Milla Jovovich, and Tiffani-Amber Thiessen were worthy of being knocked down, it could also be argued that all three were young girls, possibly young girls with less self-confidence and smarts than
Sassy
readers, and more easily molded. And there's no excuse, really, for some of Christina's comments. “I wonder what that sweet little Balthazar Getty sees in that dirty old tattoo-covered Drew Barrymore?” she writes in a February 1991 issue of “What Now.” Even Kim Gordon was less than impressed, noting in a May 1991
Spin
article, “I found this knock at little Drew a little uncool.”
The irony of it all is that
Sassy
was begun as an alternative to
Seventeen
's blond, bland uniformity. But to some readers that nonconformity became a new uniformity. “I wasn't represented in these pages,” says Rita Hao. “The staff was all hanging out in the East Village and dyeing their hair. But just because I was trying to go to law school didn't mean I wanted a boring life.”
Many
Sassy
readers feel like they haven't lived up to the magazine as adults, as if anything short of adopting Ethiopian babies, starting an all-girl noise band, or working in publishing in New York would live up to
Sassy
's standards of cool adult living. “I wanted to learn how to grow up and not make compromises—how to stay true to myself,” says Hao. What she didn't want was a new, equally confining standard to live up to.
The Fall
When a magazine succeeds in selling a distinct paradigm to its readers, like
Sassy
did, there's always the temptation to expand the brand into a lifestyle.
Sassy
had a perfume (not exactly a hit with their much-needed beauty advertisers, who resented the competition); binders, T-shirts, and fanny packs emblazoned with the
Sassy
logo; and a behind-the-scenes video called
Even More Sassy
. The magazine's conspiratorial tone and young, photogenic staff lent themselves well to other media, so it was only a matter of time before Hollywood came calling. An agent at Creative Artists Agency, Bruce Vinokour, pitched a pre-MTV
Real World
to the magazine. The series was to be a combination of sitcom and reality, revolving around a young girl who had come to New York to intern at
Sassy
. The staff would have guest spots on the show, which also promised to have very earnest, un-
Sassy
, after-school special “serious messages,” as
Sassy
's executive vice president and publisher Bobbie Halfin remembers.
Not only would a TV show be a good way to give
Sassy
a wider audience, but it would also elevate Jane's
status as an arbiter of teen taste. This wasn't something she was opposed to. “She was trying to become a celebrity, and becoming more enamored with celebrities. Which were two things that were very un-
Sassy
, with a capital
S
,” says Mike, noting that Jane had acquired numerous new famous friends. She appeared on the game show
To Tell the Truth
and was filmed getting her nose pierced on
First Person with Maria Shriver
. She was even rumored to be taking acting lessons. The proposed
Sassy
sitcom never got off the ground, though; negotiations fell apart when Jane failed to show up to an important meeting (a meeting Jane says she knew nothing about).
But that didn't mean Jane didn't want to be on TV. In February 1992, with the blessing of publicity-hungry Halfin and Lang, Jane gave up her day-to-day duties at
Sassy
to start her own talk show, simply called
Jane
, on Fox—something that, in the early-1990s heyday of Sally Jesse Raphael and Jenny Jones, was a popular career path. Jane wanted a new challenge, and the magazine's owners thought it would be good PR for
Sassy
, whose newsstand sales were declining. (Lang was happy to oblige; according to Jane, he was to receive half of her host salary.) Lang, however, claims this wasn't true. For
Sassy
fans who had a hard time waiting each month for a new issue, the prospect of having Jane's talk show—a living, breathing version of the magazine—in their homes every day after school was thrilling.
Except it didn't quite work out.
Jane
tackled
Sassy
-esque topics like young women and AIDS and gay teens coming out of the closet. But it also had more sensationalistic themes like “X-Rated Ways I Worked My Way Through College,” “I'm Not Stupid, I'm Just Blond,” and “Men Only Date Me for My Big Breasts.” Unlike
Sassy
,
Jane
was not a critical success. One writer in
The Village Voice
called a piece about the show “The De-
Sassy
fication of Jane Pratt.” In New York's
Newsday
, her show was dismissed as “doing everything that's been done before on the afternoon talk shows—except it's for teenagers.” And Jane was called the “biggest hypocrite in a business filled with hypocrites.” Julie Gerstein remembers watching the show and finding it “sort of embarrassing. What was she thinking?” Jane, such a natural writer and editor, came across as not only stiff and uncomfortable on television, but also as a phony.
Jane, who was accustomed to having creative control over everything that went into the magazine, suddenly had to answer to Fox executives. “I really had hardly any say,” she says in her own defense. But the show's saving grace was that at the very end of each episode, there would be a quick shot of the cover of the latest issue, which would spike newsstand sales. “It deserved to have a bad rating but they were actually good,” says Jane. Nonetheless, the Fox show was cancelled after just one season. But the magazine was doing so well that in March 1993 Jane's new show, called
Jane Pratt
, debuted on Lifetime. The general feeling among Jane, her agent, Lang, and Bobbie was that Lifetime—even though it had a smaller potential
audience—would produce a show that was not exploitative and was more in keeping with the
Sassy
message. It tried hard, even having a riot grrrl show featuring zine editor Jessica Hopper, Kim Gordon, Christina Kelly, and the (decidedly
not
riot grrrl) Dutch indie band Betty Serveert. But it didn't repair Jane's image as a D-list talk-show host, and ran for only five months. “I dated someone who said that you were doomed if you go on that show. You fail the second you go onto the show,” remembers Jennifer Baumgardner.
“The talk show was like a nightmare,” says Jane. “I would wake up and go, ‘I had this horrible dream that I was hosting Oprah's show.' Only it was true. It wasn't a dream. Everything in me was fighting it, and you could see that when you saw it. I thought it was undermining everything I had built at
Sassy
.” Halfin echoes the sentiment: “The whole thing was horrible.”
The unlikely beneficiary of Jane's misfortune was actress Rikki Lake, who took over Jane's spot on Fox. Lake's show was not a critical success, but was on the air for eleven seasons. Later, she approached Jane at a party. “She came up to me and said, ‘I'm so glad you left and kept your integrity, because I made a whole lot of money,'” says Jane, laughing.
The talk show's failure had a devastating effect on morale at the magazine. “We shouldn't have even tried,” says Lang. “When the show finally went away it was a big let-down, and it was kind of like we were over, the good days were behind us.”
With Jane basically M.I.A. during the run of the talk show, Mary Kaye became the de facto editor, and Christina was promoted as well. Under Mary Kaye,
Sassy
's office politics heated up. “Jane was very good at being the good cop. I didn't want to be the bad cop, but you have to get the articles done. The staff all hated me,” she says. Even the way the office was set up contributed to the tension, with Mary Kaye in the back and everyone else up front. “Every time I'd walk into that room, everyone would stop talking. It felt like high school,” she says. Some staffers were loyal to her, while others didn't like her editing approach. She felt so embattled that she even went so far as to hire her mother as her assistant. Mary Schilling, a Lucky Strike–smoking, no-nonsense woman who regaled the office with tales of youthful love affairs with Canadian Mounties, was an effective shield for her daughter.
Jane was able to keep her editor in chief title, and her name still signed off each month's “Diary” column, but the reins of the magazine had definitely been handed over. Attentive readers began to notice that lists and guest writers began to dominate Jane's column. “For some reason I don't remember Jane Pratt as strongly,” says fan Annie Tomlin. “She was definitely a presence, but it always seemed like the magazine was produced collaboratively.” Jane's absence from the magazine was
Sassy
's dirty little secret. And certainly, from its inception, Jane had gotten most of
the attention in the media. Upon the launch of her talk show, Jane was the subject of features in
Interview
,
Newsweek
, and
New York
magazine. “The fact that the media bought that Jane was still running the magazine was more shocking to me than when they asked me to run it. I don't blame this on Jane; it was just funny that people thought she could do both of these things at the same time,” Mary Kaye remembers.
Resentment had been building among the staff for years. “The problem really started for me when she left to do the TV show,” says Mary Kaye. “There was this incredible love-hate thing for Jane because she got all the credit.” With Jane gone at her talk show, the rest of the staff was taking on more and more responsibility without any kind of recognition, and they were getting seriously disgruntled. “We felt like we were just as integral to the magazine as she was,” says Christina. “And I remember feeling like, ‘Why is it always about Jane?' Because she was this mini-celebrity.”
To be fair, Jane's behavior during this time was actually normal business practice. At any other magazine, it's accepted that the editor in chief makes more money and gets the accolades (they also take the fall; they're the first to be fired if a magazine is deemed unsuccessful). Furthermore, from the 1960s on, magazine editors like Helen Gurley Brown at
Cosmopolitan
, Anna Wintour at
Vogue
, Jann Wenner at
Rolling Stone
, and Tina Brown at
Vanity Fair
were becoming celebrities in their own right. Jane was ascending as a young, name-brand editor. “I think Dale looked at Jane as irreplaceable, and we really made her hot,” says Bobbie Halfin, who, along with Lang Communications's publicist Andrea Kaplan, promoted Jane in the media. There was no way Lang was going to take Jane's name off the masthead or hire a new editor in chief just to pacify mutinous employees.
Still, Jane was one of the youngest members of the staff and
Sassy
had, as Mike puts it, “an inner sense of egalitarianism” about the process of putting together a magazine. After all, wasn't the fact that
Sassy
was such an overtly collaborative effort part of what made the magazine stand out in the first place? “I don't envy them,” Jane says, of her staff. “I was getting the credit for a lot of the work they were doing. But that's sort of how it is: the editor in chief gets the attention. But at the time I guess I didn't know that, and I felt bad, and I felt like I was exploiting them.”
After just four years of publishing,
Sassy
was not just a hot up-and-coming magazine, but an unmitigated success. But it wasn't easy to keep that up. Unlike larger publishing companies, Lang Communications lacked the funding to pay for things like preferential newsstand placement, mall tours, advertising, or direct-mail campaigns that could sustain or bolster the magazine's success.
Sassy
also wasn't Lang's highest priority; that would be
Working Woman
, Lang's biggest revenue producer. And ironically, as
Sassy
was making its financial comeback,
Working Woman
was on its way down, taking all the other magazines
in Lang's stable with it, partly a casualty of that era's recession.
Lang needed an infusion of cash to run the company. But “Cute Band Alert” apparently wasn't as beloved on Wall Street as it was in the East Village. “I dealt with different investment banks, and these guys were the worst. You couldn't get a banker to understand
Sassy
at all,” says Lang. He found an investment bank that promised them money. “At the last minute they said, ‘No, we're not going to do it.' And I wasn't really willing to just accept that, and I really got in their face and said, ‘Why? What turned you off all of a sudden?' It turned out it was
Sassy
. They did not want to invest in a crazy teen magazine.” Since the “crazy teen magazine” was pinpointed as the problem child in the Lang Communications family, it wasn't long before the powers-that-be started thinking that
Sassy
might need to be sold in order to save the rest of the company.
The truth might have been that the problem lay less with
Sassy
and more with Lang himself. Lang didn't command a great deal of respect in the industry. While he had been an important publisher in the 1980s and early 1990s, he was becoming known as a bumbling businessman, and some of his practices were considered suspect. (There were rumors that Lang was falsifying circulation for some of his publications.) As Jane's talk show was failing, her relationship with Lang began to deteriorate. He wanted to trademark her name so that no one else could use it. “I think somebody tried to use the name ‘Jane' and I asked my lawyer to set up a copyright on it, so we'd own the name Jane, and he couldn't do it,” says Lang. It was a power struggle with no easy resolution: Lang had helped make Jane into a celebrity, and with her newfound star status she wanted to achieve greater fame than his relatively small company could manage.
Life at Lang Communications kept getting worse, not that it was lavish to begin with. This was a company where, as Mike says, “We had to fight to get a fax machine.”
Sassy
didn't have any kind of message system for its office phones—there wasn't even a receptionist, so if staffers were in a meeting or out to lunch and missed a call, well, too bad—they missed the call. Instead of donating to charities the money they made selling beauty-product samples, like most magazines do, Mary had the idea to put aside the cash toward an answering-machine fund.
Sassy
's Christmas parties were also tellingly indicative of Lang's bare-bones approach. There was an elegant soiree when Lang first purchased
Sassy
. “He was like, ‘I'll keep the bar open for another hour,' and we were like, ‘Wow, you actually may be Daddy Warbucks,'” Kim says, smirking. The next year, Lang offered ad space to a boat company called Spirit of New York in exchange for a free party. There were two other Christmas parties going on, so the
Sassy
staff was stuck in the basement of the boat. The food was free, but the drinks were another matter. “You had to pay for cocktails,” says Andrea. There were waiters ambling up to the staff singing, “Ooh, Spirit, working aboard the cruise.” Andrea remembers wondering, “Do you want to stop singing and
come give us some drinks?” The next year was the nadir. The holiday party was held in the conference room, and the sole refreshment was an Entenmann's cake, served straight from the box.

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