Bag Mags: A Theory on Forced Shame

It's a long story and involves many characters and plot twists, but I shall sum it up as thus: a year ago, and without really my express permission (but not so much so that I would describe it as "against my will"), I became a subscriber to both Out and The Advocate. I'm not sure they are magazines I would have ordered for myself if given the opportunity, half because of content ("and here is another straight person that we gays writing this like, so let us feature him or her instead of featuring a real-life homosexual") and half simply because I'm not a magazine reader. That said, I usually read at least some of the articles, and occasionally find things I really like. (Examples include the profile of The Arizona Republic's news editor, who is now the most powerful out gay man in journalism, and the issue of Out which featured a bio on John Barrowman and Scott Gill's first ever interview in the fifteen years they've been together. Let me repeat this, because I am a fangirl: Scott's first interview ever. Yeah, that's right. I kept that baby and I reread it.)

But this is not really about the fact that I subscribed unwittingly to two Big Gay Magazines. This is about their little plastic wrappers.

I do not know if any of you who may read this subscribes to or ever has subscribed to these magazines, but they arrive in an opaque gray plastic wrapper that has printed on it only your address and the return address. The return address, too, is listed by company name - LPI, for instance - and leaves no indication of what is in the wrap. The first time one arrived, I staggered to a stop because I had no idea what had been delivered in my mailbox. Visions of Playboy and Penthouse danced in my head. I thought I might have been the butt of a cruel joke, or that the previous renter of this apartment had an interesting taste in magazines.

Imagine my surprise - and confusion - when I discovered that, no, it was The Advocate.

All this leads me to the title in a way (not as interesting as a coming entry that I have already titled "Poptastic Danceibility"), because this is how I feel: forced to be ashamed of my reading choice.

I understand, of course, homophobia. I understand it the way I understand racism and bigotry. People are homophobic and, when it comes right down to it, can be unforgivably cruel to others. But I don't feel these bags are a protection from homophobia, or from the local mailcarrier, I don't know, leaving dog poop in a bag on your doorstep. I think it's forcing people who subscribe to be xenophobic, and fear what other people might think.

Isn't that the gist of it? "Hello, subscriber who may be GLBT. As the publisher of this magazine, I know that you are uncomfortable with your sexuality. I will protect you from all those bad heteros out there who may see this magazine when you remove it from your mailbox and come after you with torches and pitchforks. Also, did you know a lot of gay people like John Mayer? Trufax."

It's contrary to the mission of the magazines, creating solidarity and a culture for a group of people who, to date, rank as some of the world's most persecuted. How many articles that actually do feature gay artists, actors, or businesspeople stress the importance of being out and proud? And yet, the mostly-harmless covers of these magazines are hidden from the public eye when they arrive in the mail bin. I wouldn't even know any better were I a militant "all queers must die" homophobic. The first time I saw The Advocate, I assumed it was just another entertainment magazine, and it took until halfway through an article on the RENT movie that I realized no, no, I most certainly was mistaken.

How many people who are going to go out on the limb of ordering these magazines are really so deeply closeted that they fear what their postman or the guy who accidentally sees him pick up his mail thinks? The innocuousness of this is so silly. It's like the "yellow equals sign" of the Human Rights Campaign: unless you're "in the know", you truly have no idea what it is. I believe in the HRC mission but I am not sure I would put the bumper sticker on my car because it would only make people wonder. In the same way, I am curious to what my neighbors think of me toting around a bag-covered magazine when I leave the mailroom.

LPI, and also Out's publisher (the name escapes me), offers the option of "going bagless". I have yet to take them up on this, but perhaps I should, and come "out of the closet" as a subscriber. But at the same time, I am tempted not to save them these pennies because this should never have been the option. The option should be "would you like to have your magazine bagged?" when you sign up, not vice versa.

If we really want to build a better mousetrap (or in this case, build a better society), we should start by not fearing something as simple as the associations people might have with our magazine subscriptions. I am not saying that every LGBT individual should go march in a Pride Parade or wear a big rainbow jumpsuit. I'm saying that, if we're expected to accept everyone in society, then we should start with media. I'm more offended by half of what I see in Cosmo or Elle ("50 Ways to Please Him in Bed"? Puh-lease.) than I am in reading about Rufus Wainwright's "blackout" concert. (The cover story in this week's Advocate, in case you are curious.)

If we expect media to help change our world, we need to be willing to take the censor bars off it once in a while. Especially in our mailboxes.