How Sassy Changed My Life (3 page)

The day the first issue of the magazine was being printed, Jane and Cheryl drove hours to visit the plant in New Jersey to see the cover and make sure it looked exactly right. “On the drive back, that was like the highest I've ever been in my whole life,” says Jane. “We were giddy happy.” It was partly exhaustion, but it was also a sense that they were on the verge of something new and important. Even though George H. W. Bush was favored to win the election—which didn't make the intensely liberal
Sassy
staff very happy—there was a sense that change was possible. Said Jane, “This is an amazing moment, because we could be doing something right now that could change the way an election could go! We're shaping these minds when they're really young. This is really important.”
But the goal for the first issue was a little less ambitious: everyone just wanted it to sell.
Sassy
already had a small subscriber base. Charlotte Robinson was one reader who signed up for the first issue: “They got my name and address from
Seventeen
or some other shitty magazine I subscribed to and they sent me a big David Bowie poster with a description of
Sassy
on the back. Sold!” she says. But
Sassy
also needed to make a splash at the newsstand. Cover lines like “So You Think You're Ready for Sex? Read This First” and “Justine Bateman Speaks; Robert Downey, Jr., Freaks” did an excellent job of reeling in thirteen- to eighteen-year-olds who saw it while grocery shopping with Mom or at the mall.
Becky Mollenkamp was thirteen when she bought
Sassy
in a Kmart because she loved the logo. “My friends all read
Glamour
,
Cosmo
,
Marie Claire
. I hated those things,” she recalls. When she read
Sassy
, she says, “I just remember thinking, ‘Finally, a magazine for me.' I wanted a magazine that spoke my language, discussed issues that were important to me, and made me feel special.
Sassy
did that. It was topics I cared about written in a, well, sassy voice, and it never seemed condescending. It wasn't a bunch of skinny models wearing expensive clothes and talking about how to please a man.” Sarah D. Bunting's mom got her a subscription for her birthday and “my initial impression was that it was a trick—I was so used to the pink sparkly ‘you're not allowed to sweat or get pissed off'
Seventeen
-speak that I couldn't quite believe it was a magazine for the same demo.” Allison McPherson found it through a magazine fund-raising campaign at her high school in her small town (population 2,500). “I thought it was an exceptionally cool mag and I loved it from the start,” she says. “With only thirteen other girls in my grade, I stuck out as the odd or desperately trying-to-be-original girl. I felt the rest of the girls were stuck in saccharine
Seventeen
or
Tiger Beat
.” And “I was so excited that there was finally a magazine with a voice like ‘ours,'” says Jen Hazen, who borrowed a copy from her high-school friend, loved the “funky” cover design, and read it cover to cover. “I was a
subscriber to
Seventeen
at the time and was going through quite a rebellious stage, so it wasn't speaking to me. It felt too puritanical.”
At least one
Seventeen
staffer agreed. “[
Sassy
] was like a lightning bolt,” Annemarie Iverson, a beauty editor who later became her alma mater's editor in chief, told a
Mediaweek
reporter about the first time she saw the new magazine. “Everybody else felt the need to disparage it, but I felt terrible, like I was standing in my tracks. I missed something totally. It was a whole different voice and a different generation, and
Seventeen
suddenly felt antiquated to me—like it was a wearing a chastity belt.”
The First Year
Shortly after the magazine hit newsstands, the mailman arrived at the
Sassy
office with a huge bag of letters. Jane and a few other staff members emptied the bag, sat on the floor, and read the letters one by one. “We couldn't believe how much our readers loved it and what they were saying,” says Elizabeth, who was in charge of all reader mail.
Before
Sassy
, teen magazines presented girls with two options: “Be like your parents want you to be, or like the boys want you to be,” says Jen Hazen. “Not: think for yourself. They didn't treat their readers like intellectuals.” Or, in the words of Julianne Shepherd, “It felt like the writers of
Sassy
were talking with me, rather than telling me how to be like more like them, or more like an idealized notion of the popular debutante teen.”
Sassy
was a refuge from airhead teenybopper magazines, and in its first two years, the magazine established its worldview. Girls weren't encouraged to be smart for the sake of getting good grades or getting into a good college. Instead, they were encouraged to be themselves.
Sassy
touted higher education's bastions of bohemia, like Oberlin, Evergreen,
Sarah Lawrence, and Colorado College, as well as all-female colleges like Bryn Mawr and Smith. An article called “These Are the Ten Sassiest Colleges in America,” from the November 1989 issue, explains the list's criteria. Among them: “colleges that look for students who are die-hard individuals, creative, quirky, even,” “education that is wide-ranging and free-thinking,” “professors who encourage self-motivation and different points of view,” “a tight, tolerant, nonelitest student body that is supportive rather than competitive,” and “an emphasis on community service.” It's as good a summary as any of what, in the magazine's microcosm, was important in the world, and what should be important to its readers.
It seemed like
Sassy
was trying to help its readers unlearn what they had learned in other publications. “I never got to go to Daytona Beach when I was in school … this major deprivation of my teenage years has really scarred me for life,” Christina wrote in April 1989's “The Dirty, Scummy Truth About Spring Break (or, Where the Jerks Are).” In the article, she revealed the underbelly—including the drunk, assholish guys—of what had been sold to girls as a rite of passage. And in August 1989's “Cheerleaders as a Concept,” she debunks the institution: “What bothers me is that it ultimately becomes this elitist activity where only the most ‘popular' girls cheer on the most ‘popular' guys. It's an outmoded system that stereotypes people. And that makes people like me feel inferior. Yeah. That's why I have a problem with cheerleaders. Not because they get more guys. I swear it.”
Sassy
questioned all the tenets that other teen magazines held dear. The magazine regularly made fun of celebrities; it exposed the tricks of the fashion industry in articles like May 1988's “How We Make This Girl Gorgeous”; it didn't deify models.
But what made
Sassy
really stand out was the way the magazine showcased its staff.
Sassy
was cool in a distinctly impossible-to-focus-group way that was a direct result of the inimitable collective personality of the people who worked there. “When I hired the writers, I felt like I was casting a TV show, and trying to come up with characters so that every reader could relate to one of them,” says Jane.
In the first year, she used her “Diary” column to familiarize readers with each staff member.
Sassy
introduced all of its writers and editors as specific archetypes with their own beats: after Jane, their fearless leader, there was Karen, the precocious straight-shooter who covered relationships; Catherine, the serious one who wrote the hard-hitting stories; and boy-crazy Christina. (Jane nicknamed her three writers “Sex, Drugs, and Rock 'n' Roll” for their respective areas of expertise.) But it wasn't just the writers whose personalities were known: Mary, for instance, was the cool, artsy one and Neill was the incorrigible
flirt. “I wanted the hunky guy,” says Jane of Neill's potential allure to readers and coworkers alike. “I made sure to get his picture in. He dated, like, half the girls on the staff. All the readers had crushes on him, and we would fight because sometimes he would get more reader mail than I would.” (Some of the letters, he recalls, were quite suggestive.) Even Cheryl, who had no interest in appearing in the magazine, got dragged into a picture for the editor's letter about her, though only half of her appears in the frame. One can assume Jane thought the shy girls would relate.
Using the staff members as personalities in the magazine wasn't a brand-new idea. It had been done in small niche publications—mostly hunting and outdoors magazines—and it was a hallmark of
Dolly
, where employees would take turns writing the editor's letter. But though
Dolly
's staff members sounded cool, they appeared at irregular intervals and were hard to differentiate. Jane decided to take the star system and ratchet it up a notch, giving the editors a real presence in the magazine, with lots of pictures, first-person stories, and references to one another. The staff would even interject the others' stories in countless parenthetical remarks. (“Once again I got the dream assignment,” says Christina in a story on four up-and-coming male actors. “Yeah, we noticed,” Karen and Catherine respond.)
Catherine had aspired to writing the entertainment articles, but quickly acclimated to her more serious beat, contributing some of
Sassy
's most memorable stories, including a profile of an eighteen-year-old on death row and an article on a teenage stripper. While working on these pieces, she would go into “what we've come to know as ‘Cath's serious obsession mode,'” as Jane described it in a December 1988 “Diary.” Jane made sure to let readers know that, like those straight-A honor roll students who were reading, Catherine did her homework, including studying a 432-page tome on child preachers while writing her article “Children of God.”
In an early issue, Jane introduces Karen, who was known for covering the fun, flirty side of being an adolescent girl, changing her hair color with every issue, and doling out important sex and relationship advice. The staff had an average age of twenty-four; Karen was the youngest, at twenty. Even though she was barely older than her target audience, she was known around the office for being wise beyond her years. “She has a motherly knack for putting things in perspective, like her multipurpose ‘Who gives a flying——,' used whenever Christina's worrying about what some celebrity will think of her interview or I'm deliriously murmuring that the magazine will never be done on time,” wrote Jane. Plus, Jane says, she is “the only person I know—mothers included—who can talk about masturbation, boys' most intimate body parts, and the proper usage of each birth control method without blushing even once.”
Christina's boy obsession was more libidinous
than theoretical. In the early days, Jane portrays her as a kind of party girl. “No, Christina's not exactly camera shy. Or any kind of shy, really,” says Jane in “Diary,” noting Christina's “explosive laugh, which comes echoing out of her cubicle every, oh, fifteen seconds or so. And her ‘Ohmigod!' squeal—you know, a la Moon Unit Zappa circa her ‘Valley Girl' phase.” Christina's main job was “getting to meet cute, famous guys and interview them.” (Actors Billy McNamara and Alex Winter, and Kirk Pengilly—“the other cute INXS guy”—are a few examples.)
Readers got to know the staff so well that by the end of the first year, writers signed their stories with their first names only. True aficionados would read a
Sassy
story with the byline covered, then try to guess who had written it. The clues were so obvious, and the staff's personalities so defined, that it was hard to lose at this parlor game.
As it is at almost any start-up—and certainly at a start-up where it's most of the staff's first or second jobs—the initial year at
Sassy
was chaos. Mary's boyfriend would come by and question whether anyone was actually working. Often, they were laughing at Andrea Linett, who, Mary says, is “the funniest person alive.” The twenty-one-year-old Boston University graduate had started as the staff receptionist (she greeted Christina in striped over-the-knee socks, a baby-doll dress, shorts, and Doc Martens). She spent the first few months smoking in the reception area and taking phone calls—or not: other staff members were constantly trying to hang out with her, and if she was deeply involved in one of their stories, she'd simply hang up on whoever called. She became the fashion assistant (and later the fashion editor).
But it wasn't just Andrea who provided office entertainment. Art assistant Danny Pfeffer would put on clothes that had been called in for shoots and catwalk through the office. Catherine says, “You'd try to think of reasons to go to the art department,” where Neill blasted INXS from his cubicle (and mocked Catherine for playing
Les Misérables
in her own). Christina chattered on incessantly about a variety of male celebrities, addressed everyone (boys in particular) as “lovelamb,” and paraded around in her wide-brim hats and “asking for it” micromini dresses (“I'd say, ‘Christina, are you sure that's not a bathing suit?'” remembers Catherine). The time Eric Stoltz was in the lobby, a small parade of women walked by, one by one, trying to meet him.
Mike Flaherty, who was hired away from
Playboy
to be the copy editor in time for the fifth issue, was the only editorial staffer with a CD player, so he briefly hosted dance parties in his cubicle. If something amused Christina, “she'd just latch on to it and you'd hear about it every day,” he says. So there was a “Low Rider” period during which six or seven staffers would
groove to the War anthem for a few minutes each afternoon. “We were really into shtick,” says Mike.
Even though everyone on staff was really different, “We were all close, and when we weren't working we'd go out together,” says Elizabeth. There was a karaoke period. There was bowling. There was Nathan's and KFC for lunch. They even dressed alike: the summer
Dirty Dancing
came out, everyone in the office—except, presumably, Mike and Neill—started wearing three-quarter-length cutoffs and Birkenstocks. They also accused the less-cool kids—in this case, nerdier teen magazines—of copying them. They used words like
daggy
, Australian slang for
gross
, and published their definitions in the magazine, hoping they would catch on. (Alas, despite their valiant efforts to use it regularly in articles, you won't find
daggy
in the
OED
.) So though the staff often worked late into the evening, “We didn't notice the long hours,” says Elizabeth. No one wanted to be anywhere else.
Certainly, there were cliques: the writers in their row of pink cubicles; the fashion department; the Australians—each had their own little circle. And there was a lot of personal drama, reminiscent of the volatile love lives of the teens they were writing about. Christina was in love with Neill, who was in love with Catherine. Elizabeth had a crazy boyfriend and was on the verge of joining a cult. Karen's marriage was ending. The staff was practically on top of one another. They could overhear one another's phone conversations. There was a lot of crying.
They even lived together: Neill spent his first few months in the United States sleeping on Cheryl's couch. He later lived across the hall from Mary Kaye Schilling, the executive editor, a former
YM
staffer and dead ringer for Kate Pierson of the B-52's. She helped Jane with the day-to-day demands of editing the magazine. A promotional video shows them in their pajamas watching Sunday-morning cartoons together. Christina and Andrea moved in together. Jane lived across the street from Christina.
“Everything about the way we behaved was so adolescent,” says Christina, who was, quite possibly, the biggest offender. “It was like something about dealing with the material of teenage life made us all act like teenagers.”
But this was good for business. Some of the magazine's most popular stories covered life in the
Sassy
offices. In August 1988, the staff members switch jobs for a day. Karen finds out that copy editor “Anne's Job Sucks,” while Anne wonders “Why Do I Have to Be Neill?” And “Cheryl promised that as art director I'd get to meet and talk to all the new boy models to decide if they should be in the magazine,” says Christina. “But the old troll made me design the cover instead.” The accompanying image shows the results, which includes headlines like “HUNK!”; “So You Want to Date a Rock Star?”; and “Nude Poster.” Mary, filling in for Christina, forgets the questions she wanted to ask the pop group that she's
interviewing, so “All we talked about were makeup and clothes!”

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