Tuesday, August 5, 2008
I am having a Sassy week. Not like, sassy and witty and all Rosalind Russel-y, spouting quips from my cubicle with a gravely growl. Like Sassy the magazine that guided me through my sheltered but nonetheless awkward adolescence. There have been a lot of books out in recent years chronicling the cult that formed around Sassy, both during and after its newsstand reign. One, How Sassy Changed My Life, is sitting on my night stand. I haven't read it yet. I will, but I don't really need to. I know how Sassy changed my life.
For one thing, it totally pissed me off that I didn't found it and become the editor in chief, even though when it launched in 1988 I was eight years old. But in all seriousness, it was smart and savvy and honest and witty, something that was and still is missing from every single women's magazine out there. It didn't pander to the vapid or shallow, or suggest I spend my time dieting and practicing inane sex tricks. It was the first magazine that I totally fell in love with, and while I had later, glossier lovers, I never forgot the One that Got Away.
Case in point: I am currently bidding on half a dozen vintage Sassys on ebay, sold by someone named Storme in Vancouver. I once owned dozens of original Sassys, but I didn't realize they were an endangered species and so I cut them up to make decoupage, which was my next teenage phase. I am spending $10 apiece to have a piece of my youth back, but it's totally worth it. I don't want to forget that there was once a voice in the mainstream media that really, truly spoke to me. I want to share that voice with my daughter or with my sassy, gay son. Once I have Sassy back, I'll never let it go again.