Wet Socks: Maxim Magazine – Why Jennifer Love Hewitt will never make Poison Ivy 4

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(I’ve added a new feature to the blog and it’s called “Wet Socks.” As you can guess, the series will be about some of small day-to-day things that irritate the hell out of you. And by you, I’m trying to establish a universal relationship with the general public. But in reality, I probably really only mean “me.” Also, if there’s anything in particular you want to see more of here, send us a note. For those scratching their heads; Wet Socks are one of the most irritating - but easily fixable - situations ever created. Enjoy.)

Maxim Magazine, I hate you.

You are the faux fur of men’s magazines. You pander to the “extreme, man’s man sect of the population,” yet in reality you only sell magazines to the people who are too scared to have Playboy sitting around the house and those who aren’t old enough to buy porn. You are the literary representation of the bastardized Man Show, hosted by Joe Rogan and Doug Stanhope. You think you’re American Pie’s Stiffler, but instead you’re the bed wetting Chuck Sherman, dreaming up fictional encounters with females who would never give you the time of day.

No self-respecting fraternity (my Greek friends tell me never say ‘frat,’ you don’t abbreviate country by the first syllable) would ever replace a Hugh Hefner publication with that garbage. The only reason people actually buy that rag is when actresses or singers usually un-whorish in nature decide to pose nekkid in a jungle with just the right amount of palm tree branches covering the good stuff. They want you to buy Maxim on the premise that you’ll get a peak at Jennifer Love Hewitt’s body parts usually only reserved for douche bags like Carson Daly, but you see the same thing as anyone who bought I Still Know What You Did Last Summer. Anyone carrying the magazine gets crooked looks like they just walked out of the “adult” section in the back of Shinders, yet they don’t get any “adult” material – meaning flesh or intelligent discourse, actually offered in Playboy.

The problem is that actresses formerly looking to shed “goodie-goodie” stereotypes only had two options. Pose in Playboy or make Poison Ivy 4. Now thanks to Maxim (and their even more redheaded stepchild Stuff Magazine) any actress can wear a swimsuit, say a couple double entendres, and come off as a “good girl gone bad.” But those actresses aren’t Alyssa Milano in Embrace of the Vampire. They aren’t even Demi Moore posing on the cover of Vanity Fair. Sadly, the only female to realize this was former teen-star Tiffany, who in 2001 posed in Playboy.

To let females in on a secret, no one considers Playboy porn, in the same way many comedians joke that marijuana isn’t a drug. If a man really needs a pornographic fix, they dial up the Internet. If a guy wants to look at some cool new gadgets with some tits thrown in, they subscribe to Playboy.

The only bigger dick tease than Maxim Magazine is the weather in March. Maxim’s tagline shouldn’t be: Girls. Sports. Beer.; it should be “The only bigger dick tease than when the snow melts on March 2.”

Maxim’s only redeemable quality comes from an association with Blender, a completely viable and underrated music magazine. Otherwise, little else salvageable material exists, and I don’t just mean the naked but not really naked pictorials. The articles suck, too. The advice column comes nowhere near Jimmy the Bartender from Men’s Health (supremely underrated), and can’t hold a candle to Playboy’s Advisor.

For the women who aren’t avid readers of the Advisor, here’s the premise: Readers send in questions, from a variety of topics having to do with proper etiquette during a three-way with your wife and her sister, to the best studio equipment for your buck. They span that large of a range, in unrelated succession. You honestly have no idea what the next question could be after reading about portable humidors or classic cars. The tone is always classy, with how a man should deal with a problem, or what speakers he should buy for his car. You know how bar chatter always randomly shoots from topic to topic, sometimes g-rated, other times 21+? That’s what the Advisor gives you. Random bar chatter, but with terrific guidance mixed in.

Maxim, however, throws in some hackish, “wanna-be extreme types,” who leave ridiculous responses that are applicable to any situation. Also, it’s completely predictable. You can never predict the questions people have in the Advisor. Half of it is great entertainment, while the other half consists of a variety of topics, including shaving products, housewares, electronics, even tasteful gifts for the female.

Maxim also prints “cool” lists in every issue, and like anyone who’s watched vh1 for more than 10 minutes, I love lists. They countdown the “Hottest Women of 80s Movies,” yet the blonde from Teen Wolf (Lorrie Griffin) is completely absent. Even more depressing, they completely left off Phoebe Cates from Fast Times at Ridgemont High. Are men even writing this shit? Those are two movies you can watch as a kid and know exactly where your sexual desires rest. (Chuck, it’s okay that you wanted to be surf next to Michael J. Fox on top of the van.)

Take another feature: Maxim lists the worst cast film roles of all time. Showing up No. 9 is Elisabeth Shue from Leaving Las Vegas. The role was a hooker. She’s hot and actually a very capable actress. Why would Maxim have a problem with this? Oh, I know. Shue would have been a perfect candidate for Stuff or Maxim’s pages. She was recently coming off a stretch of “good girl” roles and wanted to shed that image. Because after Shue made that film, Maxim had no use for her in their magazine. Who would buy a magazine based on tame photos when they can pick up more from a movie found in the 99 cent bin at Blockbuster Video? (Sidenote: Whatever happened to her? Is Palmetto going to be her legacy?)

Continuing on, a Maxim “sexiest album cover” list mentions the original artwork from The Strokes’ debut “Is this it.” Yet they say: “You may ask yourself that very question [Is this it?] after listening to this overhyped debut.” Whhhhaa? That album fucking rocked. Another sad miss Maxim.

Even their online video content is lacking. Maxim online offers video of a first-generation iPod blowing up. First generation refers to the huge, clunky white machines only owned by celebrities about seven years ago.Before the release date of the iPod Nano two years ago, another site posted a car running over the player in a series of tests showing the mp3 player’s durability. Let that sink in. Comparatively, if the Maxim site’s video was posted TWO YEARS AGO, it would be out of date. Now? It’s just stupid.

Further more, I just checked their “Hometown Hotties” section on maximonline.com. and Minnesota didn’t have one chick represented. For all the sexy minx running around the Twin Cities, don’t worry – I’m here to say you’ve been wronged.

In fact, we’ve all been wronged. Especially those curious folk who wonder why Jennifer Love Hewitt is hawking Proactiv solution instead of getting to work on Poison Ivy 4. Hey, it worked for Jamie Pressley.
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Elliot referenced Jennifer Love Hewitt’s acting resume while writing this column and couldn’t believe a studio green-lighted Garfield 2. During his days, he writes professionally for a daily newspaper about news topics that couldn’t be more unrelated to the proliferation of magazines trying to be the new Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issue. You can e-mail him here.

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