
Today—or, actually, by the eighties—one wonders whether sex, as it is experienced by human beings, is still the point. The current centerfolds, buck naked though they may be, communicate almost no suggestion of anything. In Playboy pinups, one is not looking for the note of the divine that one finds in the Venuses of ancient statuary, let alone for the pathos of Rembrandt’s nudes. Nor should one ask for naturalness—a real-looking girl. That is a sentimental preference, and one that many great nudes (Ingres’s, Degas’s) can refute. But what is so bewildering about the later Playboy centerfolds is their utter texturelessness: their lack of any question, any traction, any grain of sand from which the sexual imagination could make a pearl. Kenneth Clark, in his classic book The Nude (1956), repeatedly compares a period’s nudes to its architecture. The Playmates of the past few decades look to me like the “cereal box” buildings that went up on Sixth Avenue in the sixties, those cold, shiny structures, with no niches, no insets—no doors, it seemed. Likewise, the current Playmates seem to have no point of entry. And wasn’t entry the idea?In reply, I quote François Truffaut in Close Encounters of the Third Kind: “It is an event sociological.” The remarkable fact that a woman has given her consent for millions of men to gaze at her admittedly stylized pinup image is enough sand to make a great pearl indeed. For a heterosexual male, real or symbolic female willingness is precious. Wow, she went for it! Many other women wouldn’t do it for any price (although this unwillingness can sometimes have its own distinct charm).
In a 2002 article in The New York Review of Books, Janet Malcolm remarked on Irving Penn’s tendency to crop the heads of his nudes: “There does not seem to be any way that a naked person in front of a camera can fail to betray his or her sense of the...inherent silliness or pathos of the situation. Whether the object of the exercise is art photography or pornography, the model does not know what to do with her face.” If Penn’s subjects were stymied, so were the Playmates, but of course their heads weren’t cropped, and Hefner wanted them to look straight into the camera. The poor girls either smiled (“We’re going to have a good time”) or snarled (“Come and get me, big boy”). Both seem equally fake.But “fake” images can express real human will as messages in an iconic language. In the video clip of her Playboy Cyber Club photo shoot [obviously not work-safe], University of Kansas sex columnist Meghan Bainum can be seen making the effort, sometimes a bit awkwardly, to speak this language. All by itself, her wish to be the subject of male fantasy is an endlessly fascinating part of reality.
Posted by Brian Sorgatz at 11:49 AM
![]()