The Sage and Serious Doctrine of Hugh Hefner

Twenty years ago, Playboy’s first issue hit the newsstands. Now a photo review of the Playmates reminds one of the magazine’s lean years. Few girls, and fewer pretty ones, were willing to pose nude in those days. The first issue featured Marilyn Monroe in the famous calendar poses of her lean years, rights to which, as all the world must know by now, Hugh Hefner had bought for peanuts; and in subsequent issues, the pretty Playmates were often called upon to do encores. One, in fact, was Playmate of the Month three times, and also served as the magazine’s subscription editor.

Despite the girl-next-door aura that helped make the Playmates famous, many of them, in those early days, had a rather self-conscious fallen woman look about them; rather like the girls in other girlie mags, like Rogue and Dude. You know the pose: breasts thrust forth, tummy sucked in, legs coyly crossed—and the face, oh the face! What it lacked in beauty, it made up in ardor and mascara. Come hither, reader, it said—chin up, mouth open, tongue between bared teeth, eyes half open but gazing right at you, mister, and yes it said yes—though she looked like a girl who, off camera, chewed gum and said yeah, that Playmate of yore.

JS

About the Author

Joseph Sobran

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Twenty years ago, Playboy’s first issue hit the newsstands. Now a photo review of the Playmates reminds one of the magazine’s lean years. Few girls, and fewer pretty ones, were willing to pose nude in those days. The first issue featured Marilyn Monroe in the famous calendar poses of her lean years, rights to which, as all the world must know by now, Hugh Hefner had bought for peanuts; and in subsequent issues, the pretty Playmates were often called upon to do encores. One, in fact, was Playmate of the Month three times, and also served as the magazine’s subscription editor.

Despite the girl-next-door aura that helped make the Playmates famous, many of them, in those early days, had a rather self-conscious fallen woman look about them; rather like the girls in other girlie mags, like Rogue and Dude. You know the pose: breasts thrust forth, tummy sucked in, legs coyly crossed—and the face, oh the face! What it lacked in beauty, it made up in ardor and mascara. Come hither, reader, it said—chin up, mouth open, tongue between bared teeth, eyes half open but gazing right at you, mister, and yes it said yes—though she looked like a girl who, off camera, chewed gum and said yeah, that Playmate of yore.