Pretty Women?
Suicide Girls is a cultural phenomenon. It’s Playboy meets MySpace.com, as brought to you by Tim Burton. It’s a Web site. It’s erotica. Some say it’s punk-goth-softcore porn. It’s the cute girl at the punk show posing naked for pictures, and it’s the girl’s boyfriend, the band’s lead singer, and the geeky guy in the corner who never gets any play, all paying four dollars a month to look at those pictures. It’s interviews with Pixies frontman Frank Black and articles about abortion rights. It’s discussions about Macintosh computers, animal rights, and the benefits of getting really, really drunk. It’s an endless diversion. It’s objectification internalized. It’s the bold new face of feminism’s third wave. It’s the same old misogyny with Manic Panic hair color and a septum piercing. It’s a brilliant marketing vessel that taps into the geek, deviant, and misfit in all of us. It’s just a business. It’s a life-changing revolution. It’s a cry for help. It’s a career.
