Brown-Bagging It

By Joel Stein

I have no problem with pornography. Pornography has got me through some of my most difficult times: my prepubescence, my pubescence, my postpubescence, my post-postpubescence and whatever they call the part I'm in now. But I hate the SPORTS ILLUSTRATED swimsuit issue. And it's not just because they won't let me be host of that TNT Making of special--though, if they want to end my negative campaign, that will probably do it.

Last year my Time Inc. co-workers and I received our sister magazine's swimsuit issue wrapped in a brown interoffice envelope. A white strip on the cover said FOR OFFICE USE. Though I had seen that phrase before on our publications, the thought of people somehow "using" this in their offices seemed really disturbing.

My co-workers, with their blase New York City hipness, gawked at their issues in public. Men, women and even the small children that work for us despite child-labor laws gathered over copies in the halls. And I--who once persuaded TIME to send me to Las Vegas for a porn convention, whose sole scoop in two years was procuring the Pamela and Tommy Lee tape before it was released--was disgusted.

As a writer who covers sports, I spend a good amount of time convincing women that athletic contests are a legitimate form of entertainment. To do this, I usually use words like "Aristotelian catharsis," but recently someone asked me to explain what that meant, which didn't go so well, so I don't say that anymore. But I know it doesn't mean "dumb guy who likes to drool over half-naked women with sand strategically affixed to them." I explained my opinions to Rebecca Romijn-Stamos when I interviewed her last year, and she responded by telling me that all men who like sports are stupid and that I had some issues to deal with. I told her she was going to have some issues when she woke up out of her stupor and realized she was married to the guy who played Uncle Jesse on Full House. It's this kind of talk that keeps me from going out with supermodels. Also, I'm not that good-looking.

Fueled by this pseudo feminism, I went to the S.I. floor to meet Sandy Bailey, the editor of SPORTS ILLUSTRATED FOR WOMEN. I asked her if her magazine would ever stoop to printing a men's swimsuit issue. She said that will be the May issue. Shocked and disappointed, I asked if she needed models and offered to take my shirt off. She said she was using professional athletes as models. I offered to take my shirt off anyway. She laughed in a way that made me know she knew the number for Security.

Pretending that the swimsuit issue is different from Playboy is dangerous. By masquerading as mainstream, as Maxim and Details do, it allows readers to duck issues of exploitation. Just because you have to look through wet bathing suits to see nipples doesn't mean you should escape all feelings of shame and secrecy. To see these images, you should have to walk to the back of the video store, through those western-style swinging doors that make you think of a brothel. You should have to sneak the merchandise home wrapped in something inconspicuous. That's why I'm throwing out my swimsuit issue. So I can keep that nice brown envelope.