My dad vs. Sassy magazine

I am still down South visiting with my family for the holidays, and hoo boy, am I on an organizing kick.

Now, I am one of those lucky kids who a) still has her own bedroom and b) still has parents that let her store stuff there (a good thing when you live in a small space). Currently, this room holds the things that my studio apartment can't: yearbooks, stuffed animals, antiques passed down from grandparents, dried corsages from high-school sweethearts, and much to my father's chagrin, stacks of teen magazines circa 1987 - 1994.

Like most girls my age, I subscribed to the late 80s/early 90s teen-mag trifecta: YM, Seventeen, and TEEN. You remember the type--the pubs that offered bubble-gummed goodness that helped you navigate your teenage years. You learned where to find a prom dress. How to put on makeup. Answers to quiz questions such as, "Am you ready for a boyfriend?", "Do you have an eating disorder?", and "What is your Mike Seaver IQ?".

Today, these issues fill a few bins inside my closet and the drawers of my bedside table. They're harmlessly out of the way, quietly holding their secrets to kissing, purple eyeshadow, and high-top Reeboks. They are a little piece of my history. And for the past ten years, my neat-freak father has been waging war against them.

A neat-freak myself, I do understand his seige. I am certainly not into extra "stuff" filling a room (especially one that's not technically mine anymore). So, on this current organizing steak, I am giving in--and finally releasing most of these prisoners of war to their new recycling-bin home. It's a peace treaty of sorts that will almost make my dad a happy man. And I say "almost" because there is one soldier who is simply not up for negotiation: Sassy magazine.



Do a little search on the Internet, and you'll find several blog posts extolling the amazingness that was Sassy. I won't wax on, because if you get it, you get it. But I will say this: the older I get, the more I realize that this little publication influenced everything from my writing voice and my sense of style to my political views and even my career path. The magazine armed me with a little bit of coolness that I probably wouldn't have had if I'd surrendered myself to just the YMs and Seventeens of the world.

So, yeah, Dad, the white flag is up. But it's only at half mast. Viva Sassy, ya'll!