A feminist joto's take on Playboy

I was about thirteen years old when I stumbled upon a discarded Playboy magazine. It was on the floor of a public, single-stall bathroom. The cover of the magazine immediately peaked my interest. I reached for it and leafed through it as I went about by business. Admittedly, by that age I knew I was what older Latinas referred to as curioso, a questionable euphemism that some Latinx folks use to refer to jotos and gender non-conforming individuals—it’s akin to calling someone precious. And they were right. By then I knew I was somehow “different” from other boys: I found myself “crushing on” boys and not girls, developing friendships mostly with girls, and distancing myself from stereotypically masculine activities, including sports. Indeed, I dreaded the weekends, when my father would seize control of the tv, and I had to pretend to cheer for Club America, his favorite soccer team. But I did enjoy screaming “gooooooooooooool” whenever a player scored a goal.

And yet the contents of the magazine mesmerized me. I was still learning English then, so I paid little attention to the text. Instead, I perused the photo spreads, each of which led to a moment of solemn introspection: “Is this what I’m supposed to like?” I looked at the models’ breasts, “nada” (nothing). I looked further below, “tampoco” (still nothing). I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to feel, but I didn’t feel anything. Still, I remained captivated.

I continued examining the pictures carefully. The models were beautiful, glamorous, and radiated confidence. Their pictures made me wonder if I would ever exude femininity like them, a thought that confirmed I was curioso. By then at least ten minutes had passed, so I quickly tossed the magazine aside, cleaned up, and walked out. Today, I wonder if that discarded Playboy magazine answered other questions that questioning teenagers may have had.

In retrospect, perusing that Playboy magazine forced me to confront my sexuality and gender identity over the course of a bathroom break. No, I didn’t walk out of the stall screaming, “soy joto” (I’m gay). But as I forged my identity moving forward, I felt empowered knowing I enjoyed the performance of but wasn’t attracted to femininity—a topic I’ll discuss in a later post. For that reason, I have a somewhat positive attitude toward Playboy.

Some would argue, however, that Playboy magazine is inherently antithetical to feminism because it perpetuates women’s sexual objectification. But that argument is too facile. Look around! Contemporary capitalist culture is predicated on sexual objectification. Indeed, H & M, Abercrombie & Fitch, Victoria’s Secret, etc., ads rival many of Playboy magazine’s “soft-core” images. But Playboy magazine at least has the decency to admit it uses adult models for adult entertainment purposes. In contrast, many retailers’ ads sexually objectify (underage) women and men without “for adults” labels, and the retailers peddle the ads for mass consumption free of charge. Even our food ads employ sexual imagery to wet our appetites—remember these Carl’s Jr ads? I can’t recall the last time ate a hamburger in that manner. Thus, if Playboy undermines the feminist cause, so do a lot of soft-core ads, and it behooves us, feminists, to think twice about the retailers we patronize since our money may very well be spent on soft-core ads.

That is not to say that Playboy is not without problems. Indeed, one problem is its lack of diversity with respect to race, look, size, and ableness. Arguably, if Playboy magazine is going to continue structuring its consumers’ desires, it should at least structure them in a more inclusive fashion. And we should demand the same from advertisers. Personally, I’m glad I found that Playboy when I did because it cleared up important questions early in my life. If I had similar questions today, a Victoria’s Secret catalogue may suffice.