Le maudit Mo D.

how sassy changed my life

I am almost done reading How Sassy Changed My Life, a book that chronicles the institutional and cultural history of Sassy Magazine (1988-1994). Sassy was an enormous influence on my coming-of-age. Imagine this wonderful cultural moment: that you could go to your local newsstand and buy a teen magazine that made fun of celebrities, celebrated indie rock (how do you think I found out about Tsunami and Unrest?), promoted zines, fought hard to put fat girls in fashion spreads, and had a conspiratorial, often sarcastic tone to its writing. Imagine you are reading this at the age of TWELVE. It was like this message from the future that said, "hey nerdy girl! you are going to be really fucking cool someday, and here are all the secrets to getting there.."

Major life decisions, such as choosing the Ladycollege, were born of my Sassy readings, as well as my taste in music and probably even my writing style. In 1994, the Sassy I knew and loved, died and was briefly reborn as what the book HSCML calls "Stepford Sassy," which was just patronizing and fluffy Teen magazine using the Sassy name. I remember finding Stepford Sassy in my Smith mailbox (Box 7458, if you care) and looking it over, heartbroken. It was a gloriously offensive pile of shit. I tore it to shreds and tossed it in the mailroom recycling bin, only to find that I wasn't the only Smithie moved to do that.

I've always hated Jane magazine. The first time I read it, it felt like a slap in the face, like after everything Sassy taught me I was supposed to look upon my twenties as a time to buy $40 lipsticks and starfuck like a retard. During my time in NYC, I met a guy named Jeff who had recently accepted a writing position at Jane and who urged me to read it. I told him (and I wouldn't do this now but at 23 I was apparently tactless) that I loved Sassy and hated Jane, but wished him the best anyway. I was so painfully intimidated by Jeff because not only was he hot and cool and would never in a million years date me, he was friends with E-G-G-E-R-S and was published in early McSwy's, and Sassy den mother/goddess Christina Kelly was his boss. I still have my e-mails from Jeff. I see that I was still as big a verbose dork at 23 as I am now at 31. Go me.

I ran into Jeff on the street the night before I left NYC for Austin. He was with some woman who was pretty and probably clever too, and he reminded me that he still hadn't paid me for winning his Super Bowl pool. I told him I'd e-mail him my address when I got to Austin, which I did and he sent me a check. I still look upon that night harshly, as if in that moment, with less than twenty-four hours from my escape from NYC to the big, bonny bosom that has been my life in Austin, I had squandered whatever wonder and magic I might have found in New York, if I hadn't been too young and scared to go looking for it.