I can’t explain it. Well, of course I can explain it—I don’t suppose anyone has ever been called upon to explain something like that. “Hot girls in bikinis? Really? What’s the appeal?”
But what I mean is, why Sports Illustrated specifically? There are other places to see swimsuit models. There are other displays of the female form. Heck, the internet exists, and it’s probably about 70% naked ladies.
And also, I’m 36. Once you’re past your early 20s, the swimsuit issue shouldn’t hold much interest besides maybe a double-take upon seeing the display at the 7-11. Maybe a casual, bashful flip-through.
But I look forward to it every year. There’s something about these particular girls, this particular photography style, that particular Sports Illustrated brand that has stuck with me long after I’ve outgrown my flirtations with Playboy, Victoria’s Secret, and (ugh) Maxim.
Maybe because it got to me first. My first swimsuit issue arrived with my dad’s subscription in 1985. Paulina Porizkova in her lacy blue top and smooth blue bottom grinned at me from the cover in friendly conspiracy, her sandy footprints receding behind her into the Australian countryside. I was eleven and perfectly primed to receive all this, just on the verge of believing that girls should be cherished and not fled from. Playboy, Victoria’s Secret, and Maxim—to say nothing of the internet—were years and years away in my life.The 1985 issue had a cologne or perfume ad in it. One of those scented ones. I think if I were to smell it today, my heart would leap.
Anyway. It stuck. I find myself contemplating the swimsuit issue pretty frequently, forming opinions, making useless observations. I realized that I’d successfully predicted the last three cover models. (It doesn’t take a clairvoyant—they were Marisa Miller, Bar Refaeli, and Brooklyn Decker, all three in that increasingly rare group of Sports Illustrated models who are also household names. But still—a threepeat is a threepeat.)
So I thought I’d create a blog where I could jot stuff down as it occurs to me. I’ll do it until I get bored, or until I get embarrassed, or until SI sends me a cease and desist order.
By the way, I’ve decided to launch this blog on Heidi Klum’s birthday. She’s probably my favorite model of the 90s, just a textbook example of an intoxicatingly beautiful woman, and 100% SI. You cannot go wrong with Heidi Klum.
Happy 37th Heidi Klum. Have some cake.
