Bad Meaning Bad Or Bad Meaning Good?

Once again, Virginia Heffernan, writing in the Times, gets it wrong. In "Character Issues," she takes on the TV drama as long-running movie phenomenon: "The Sopranos," Mad Men," "In Treatment." She writes: "In the Chase paradigm, a show’s main character must be fundamentally evil, and this evil must undermine the tenacious American fantasy that there are morally responsible roads to power and moreover that the achievement of power is itself a moral responsibility." This is so wrong as to be asinine. The compelling potential of a show like "The Sopranos"--or "Mad Men," for that matter--especially when it ventures into the male interior, is that it explores a place where bad men do what good men dream. More importantly, and consequently, these men are not, in fact, "bad" at all; they are good. They may plunder, kill, cheat, lie, backstab, and hustle, but if we did not love Tony, we would not love "The Sopranos." We enjoy the transgressive pleasures of watching him move through the world with bat-swinging impunity because this is the stuff of which we dream in secret, and we know in our hearts that he's good--in spite of himself, in spite of these deeds--or so we hope. Because if he isn't, we're lost. Of course, there's no real parallel between Don Draper and Tony Soprano--other than Matthew Weiner. Don is a shadow that seeks to be what Tony was. All self-suppression and perfectly polished angst, Draper remains artfully composed, even when he slips. Tony, on the other hand, wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty--even when it came to body matter--yet he remained a hero because he did it with heart.

Big Penis Party

Tomorrow night, Taschen and Coco de Mer are hosting a launch party for The Big Penis Book. Balk asked me if I wanted to cover the event for Radar Online, but I said I couldn't, which is tragic, really. After all, this isn't just a book about penises, it's about style: "...the big penis never goes out of fashion." Editor Dian Hanson discusses the book and big penises. I'm thinking it's for the ladies and the gays.

MenMenMen

It's men's fashion week in Milan. Didncha know? This fetishtastic rubber trench from Prada is a standout. After the show, Miuccia declared men are struggling between fragility and power, "hanging in the balance... between extremes." Interesting. And right, I think. Tim Blanks witnessed: "All this and a gold latex coat: As the mannequin moved, it trembled, poised indeed between fragility and power." Navigating the gap continued on other runways. At Alexander McQueen, the clothes "defined a man’s body (as opposed to the slender frames of the 90-pound weaklings that pass for mannequins on many catwalks)" and revealed the male form in gauzy transparencies and oxblood spangled tiers. Men in crisis? Maybe. Or perhaps they're just exploring the scope of their sexuality in latex and sheers.

Say Hello to the Mankini

Once upon a time, Rudi Gernreich gave the world the monokini. Now, Alexander McQueen gives men the... mankini? It's hot. Um, sort of.

Mad Men Misunderstood

What is with the New York Times Magazine? First they publish a 7,000-word essay without a drop of cultural analysis in it as a cover story. Then they deliver an equally lengthy look at "Mad Men" that entirely misses the point of its subject. I guess that's what happens when you send a woman to do a man's job--or send a woman who doesn't get men to write about what men want. In theory, the piece offers up a look behind the scenes at the TV story of ad men in the early '60s from one of the guys behind "The Sopranos." But writer Alex Witchel, whose husband Frank Rich wrote an equally vapid, keep-the-story-at-arm's-length-at-all-times piece on the adult film industry years ago, just doesn't get it. "Mad Men" is man porn--the pornography of manhood--and not in the pejorative sense. At its heart, "Mad Men" works not because it's about the culture of ad execs in the sixties; it works because it's a fantasy about the time before feminism, when men were men, period. "Mad Men" works for the same set of reasons that "The Sopranos" worked--by painting gender roles in black and white--and the result of transgressing into this bawdy, martini-ed, lying, cheating, dirty, loving life is pleasure. I don't know what's up with the so-called gender wars these days, but whatever's going on, it's a mess. The New Jezebels act like the girl in "The Exorcist," their heads forever spinning because they can't make up their minds if they want to spend all their time trashing men, whining about how oppressed they are by magazines, or blogging about how many times they got fucked last night--so they end up doing all three at the same time. That'd leave men kind of... confused, wouldn't it? No wonder the international mobile porn business is fast becoming a $20 billion a year business; men have to have something to look at that's not so fucking complicated. The shortcomings of "Mad Men" are few and far between, but what it lacks it lacks because it isn't hard enough, likely because it's on AMC, not HBO. Either way, men will take their pleasures where they find them. Anything's better than listening to the endless stream of static coming from the mouths of 21st century women who can't decide if they're feminists or freaks.

No, I Do Not Need Your Penis Enlarger

I get emails every so often from people proposing link exchanges or asking about ad rates or wondering if I want to try their products. Last night, I got this one.

"Hi,

I am the webmaster of www.peloop.com.

I find your blog very interesting to read. Your way of writing can magnet and lure a lot of visitors/readers. Would you be able to write about our product after visiting our site?

Or if you have a friend who is interested to try our product, we can send you one. From this, you can gain insights and share your friend's experience to us.

I would really be interested to know if you would be able to post your findings/review in your blog http://reversecowgirlblog.blogspot.com, it may be a positive or negative one, with links to our site."

Peloop is a ring for your penis that's supposed to make your penis get bigger. Get it? Like "pe" like "penis" and then "loop" like, well, "loop." Honestly, I would never link to the site if it wasn't so goddamn amusing. I like this part: "The first benefit comes from the magnet. peloop™ contains a strong rare earth magnet that creates a magnetic field around the base of your penis where the blood enters." So, it's like your penis is the center of the universe, and then everything else in the universe gravitates towards your penis if your penis is sporting a Peloop? Also, do not miss the "3D animation" that shows how a magnetic field, FIR rays, and negative ions can give you the penis of your dreams. But the best part is where you get to meet the founder. Apparently, his name is Mr. Omar Long.

This is in no way a recommendation for Peloop. In fact, this is a strong recommendation that you never buy Peloop. Your penis will thank me for it.

Photo of the Day: The Facehunter

Phat chains redux by the Face Hunter.

Tom Ford's Spring/Summer 2008 Ad Campaign

I'd seen various shots from Tom Ford's Spring/Summer 2008 ad campaign by Terry Richardson, but I hadn't seen the whole set. They're pretty impressively raunchy, including the full-frontal male nudity. (To wit: penises.) Not long ago, Ford addressed the fact that penises outside of porn remain one of the last taboos--at least here in America.

"Imagine … if our suits were entirely designed to show off our penises. Imagine if contemporary fashion demanded that you left your cock hanging outside your trousers, with perhaps just the head trussed up in a tiny pouch like a dick bra. Everyone would see our cocks all the time..."

Dick bra, anyone?

Tom v. Thom

The New York Times has a somewhat interesting piece today on the state of the suit and what it says about the state of the American man: "Sizing Up the Cut of a Man." Indeed. The pressing premise seems to be: Which Tom are you? Tom Ford? Or Thom Browne?

In a nutshell, Tom Ford is all about the sexy and Thom Browne is all about the floods.

While Trebay, as usual, spends far too much time masturbating with words while failing to make a point, he does offer up this gem of an insight: "[B]oth men seem to start from the hoary but still sound premise, so beloved of the folks in theory-land, that masculinity is a pose, a form of drag."

Tom Ford, says Trebay, is for guys who want to "fuse the debonair cut of a Savile Row suit with the swagger of a star from 1970s pornography." Thom Browne, says Trebay, is for guys who want to look like Pee-wee Herman.

What kind of man are you?

Why Men Cheat

Have you been hoping for a really cringe-inducing, terrifically long feature story about why men cheat written by a middle-aged guy ever since the Spitzer story broke? Well, your prayers have been answered. See "The Secret Lives of Married Men" by Philip Weiss in this week's New York.

The sad tale begins, "I’m 52 and have always struggled with the desire for sexual variety," and primarily consists of Weiss wandering from pseudo-expert to married male friend, all the while wondering what would happen if he cheated on his wife. "If my marriage broke up, my wife could easily move in with a sister. I’d be as lost as plankton." Mmm. Plankton. The Baby Boomer's new sexy.

How a story like this makes it to the page is beyond me. I wonder about the pitching process. Did this guy and Moss figure this one out over one too many drinks at the Spotted Pig?

And why, above all, did it seem like a good idea to have a man who did not cheat on his wife tell the story of those men who do?

In Letters from Johns, men cheat because they're lonely, because they're bored, because they're afraid of dying, because they're afraid of living, because they don't know how to say what they want to say, because of the blow jobs, because of the naked women, because of the thrill of it, because life is hard, because fucking isn't, because of all the things that you and I can't see because we're not there in the room with them.

Men cheat because they can.

Torture Porn Couture

Backstage, John Galliano was wearing a worn-out leather jacket with a blurry mustachioed face painted on the back. He insisted it was Einstein, but it looked just like Edgar Allen Poe, which worked because Poe’s "The Masque of the Red Death" was as good a reference a point as any to launch a dissection of Galliano’s latest fashion delirium. That story’s depiction of a decadent society partying itself to death rang those odd sociopolitical bells that Galliano willfully gongs on a regular basis. He blithely quipped that his underwear licensees would be cheered by a middle passage of bruised, bloodied models in skimpy underthings, but there were those in the audience who saw echoes of Clive Barker's Hellraiser—or Abu Ghraib.

Me, Myself, and Whores

Yesterday, I mentioned something that I'm working on, a project that I referred to as The Project, a project, I suggested, that had to do with prostitutes. What is The Project? For now, the project will remain vague, as projects have a tendency to change. One thing I didn't like about the Reverse Cowgirl--the blog, that is--last year was that there were a great many things I didn't blog about. This year, I'm trying to be more upfront. So, while I'm remaining ambiguous here, I'm also trying to be more clear here. Is it working? Who knows. My virtual underwear is transparent--metaphorically, that is. In any case, I have a point. What was it? Ah, yes. I've been writing about sex for about a decade now. Actually, 2008 will be my eleventh year. Much of that time I've spent talking to and writing about and thinking about and more to the point identifying with the men I've met in the otherworld of sex that remains for the most part unseen in 21th century America. (And, no, I'm not talking about "Cathouse" or some heavily edited crap like that; I'm talking about the real world where sex workers live and breathe and the rest of America has to pay to visit.) These days, I'm looking at the women. Anybody who knows me knows this is no easy task. I made it clear in "My, My American Bukkake Too" that I'm more inclined to identify with the men in that world. I mean, wouldn't you? Would you rather be the guy with his dick in his hand or the girl on her knees with her eyes closed? That's a rhetorical question, as far as I'm concerned. I guess it's easier to look at the Other than into the Mirror, no? Either way, and apropros of nothing, I'm interested in hearing about any of my male readers' experiences with prostitutes. To be clear, I'm not interested in some jerk-off story. I'm interested in hearing from you if you're interested in sending me an email about if you've ever been with a prostitute and why? And, most significantly, what was your experience of the girl? I'm also interested in hearing from sex workers or former sex workers. What does America not understand about what you do? In both cases, your responses will be anonymous. Please let me know if I can post your email to this blog. Email me by clicking on the CONTACT ME line to your left and up.

BONED

Chris Bishop and the Untitled Project

I'm extremely fucking thrilled to announce that illustrator and web designer Chris Bishop, who created the original Reverse Cowgirl logo you see here, has agreed to design the secret Untitled Internet Project upon which I am working. You can see Bishop's paintings here, his illustrations here, and his comics here. Also, you can buy his iconic unicorns humping T-shirt on Threadless, "Afternoon Delight," here.

I Like Boys

I've decided I'm going to launch a new project...more soon.

Of Porn and Men IV

Via email: "I'm a man. A very ordinary, commonplace non-weird man. I have had experiences, history, and evolving attitudes with porn. I wouldn't mind sharing. It is a thing that many women seem to have a very hard time understanding or relating to. And that men are rather scared to talk about. I look forward to your book. I would suggest that we don't need much more info on the porn-valley production end, but a lot more on the consumer end. Which is difficult to get, and is a topic full of lies and disinformation and political agendas of many stripes."

Of Porn and Men III

In PORN, bad men do what good men dream. In the 21st century, porn is a man's heart of darkness, the elephant in every guy's bedroom that exposes who he really is, a funhouse mirror reflection of his deepest, darkest fantasies about himself. When it comes to sex, men can't hold back their demons. In porn, those demons are unleashed--no matter how politically incorrect or provocative, misogynist or sexist, inspired or insane they are. In porn, men aren't bad--they're just, well, men. In porn, men speak the secrets that they keep from others and themselves.

Of Porn and Men II

PORN will take me across the United States. I'll start in Porn Valley. From there, I'll visit Chicago, Illinois, Detroit, Michigan, New York, New York, Washington, DC, Chapel Hill, North Carolina, Tupelo, Mississippi, Austin, Texas, Scottsdale, Arizona, Las Vegas, Nevada, and many other points in between. I'll be talking to men about porn.

Of Porn and Men

About a month ago, I dumped my agent. It wasn't working. After that, I dumped my book proposal. It wasn't working, either. Then, I started all over. I retitled the book. The new title is PORN. This time around, the book is about porn--and men. A long time ago, I was a book publicist for an imprint of Simon & Schuster. The job was boring and dull and involved the promotion of books that were boring and dull authored by writers who were boring and dull. But my boss taught me something I never forgot. She was of the opinion writers don't write about what they know. Writers write about what they don't know. Now I'm nearly done. The proposal is very provocative. It is my monster child. Soon, I'll send it to a potential agent who has expressed interest--and then, we'll see.

Your Dick Here

The John Holmes suit is available online. Relatedly, there is "My Dick."