Sex matters. It’s a simple thought, but in the early 1980s, saying that out loud in lesbian circles could get you kicked out of a meeting or, at the very least, side-eyed into oblivion. Enter On Our Backs magazine. It wasn't just a glossy publication; it was a loud, messy, beautiful riot against the status quo.
You’ve probably heard of Off Our Backs, the radical feminist newsjournal that started in the 70s. That magazine was serious. It was political. It was also, quite frankly, terrified of the "wrong" kind of desire. When Debbie Bright and Nan Kinney teamed up with Myrna Elana in 1984 to launch On Our Backs magazine, the name itself was a cheeky middle finger to the anti-pornography movement dominating the era. They didn't want to just talk about the patriarchy. They wanted to talk about what happened behind closed doors. They wanted to see it, too.
The Lusty Lady Roots and a New Kind of Vision
The magazine didn't come out of thin air. It came from San Francisco. Specifically, it came from the intersection of the sex work industry and the queer community. Nan Kinney and Debbie Bright were working at the Lusty Lady, the famous peep show collective. They saw a void.
There was plenty of porn for men. There was plenty of political theory for women. But where was the smut for us? Where was the visual representation of butch/femme dynamics, BDSM, or just plain old lust that didn't feel like a lecture?
The first issue featured a cover with a woman holding a camera, staring right back at the viewer. It was revolutionary. Honestly, it’s hard to overstate how much of a shock this was to the system. You have to remember that this was the height of the "Sex Wars." On one side, you had figures like Andrea Dworkin and Catherine MacKinnon arguing that pornography was essentially a tool of male supremacy. On the other side, the "pro-sex" feminists—the ones running On Our Backs magazine—argued that reclaiming pleasure was its own form of liberation.
Susie Bright and the Editorial Shift
While the founders laid the groundwork, it was Susie Bright (often known as Susie Sexpert) who really pushed the magazine into the cultural zeitgeist. As the editor-in-chief during its formative years, Bright brought a sharp, intellectual, and unapologetically erotic voice to the pages. She wasn't afraid of controversy. In fact, she invited it.
The magazine published everything from high-art photography to gritty, first-person accounts of kinky encounters. It gave a platform to photographers like Tee Corinne, who had been trying to capture the reality of lesbian bodies for years.
Bright’s influence meant the magazine wasn't just a collection of photos. It was a place for debate. Can a feminist wear lace? Is roleplay inherently oppressive? These weren't just academic questions; they were the lived reality of the readers. The magazine became a community hub.
It Wasn't All Smooth Sailing
Money was always a problem. It’s the classic indie publishing story. You have the vision, you have the audience, but you don't have the distribution or the advertisers. Mainstream companies weren't exactly lining up to put ads in a lesbian erotica magazine in 1986.
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The magazine went through several hands. After the original founders, it was eventually sold to H.A.F. Enterprises, and later to various owners including Blush Entertainment. Each transition shifted the tone slightly. Some readers felt it became too polished; others felt it lost its radical edge as it moved into the 90s.
Then there was the competition. Girlfriends magazine arrived later, offering a more "lifestyle" approach that felt safer for advertisers but less daring for the hardcore fans of the original On Our Backs magazine run. By the time the internet started swallowing print media whole in the early 2000s, the magazine struggled to find its footing. It officially ceased publication in 2004.
Why We Still Talk About It Today
Why does a defunct magazine from the 80s and 90s still matter? Because look around.
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The aesthetic of modern queer media—the focus on "dyke" culture, the mainstreaming of BDSM in queer spaces, the very idea of "sex positivity"—it all traces a direct line back to those grainy black-and-white pages. On Our Backs magazine proved that you could be a feminist and a sexual adventurer at the same time. It rejected the idea that women's sexuality had to be soft, flowery, or "nurturing" to be valid.
It also paved the way for trans representation. While the early years were primarily focused on cisgender lesbians (a reflection of the time), the magazine eventually became a space where gender fluidity was explored long before it was a common conversation in the New York Times.
What You Can Do Now to Connect with This History
If you're looking to dive into this legacy, don't just take my word for it. The history is archived, but it takes a bit of digging to find the real stuff.
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- Visit the Archives: The Digital Transgender Archive and various LGBTQ+ history museums (like the GLBT Historical Society in San Francisco) hold physical and digital copies. Seeing the original ads for "vibrator parties" and early sex toys is a trip.
- Read Susie Bright’s Memoirs: If you want the "behind the scenes" gossip and the intellectual rigor of that era, Susie Bright’s books like Big Girls Do It or her autobiography Refused to Be Depressed offer an unfiltered look at what it was like to run a sex magazine in a hostile climate.
- Support Independent Queer Media: The spirit of On Our Backs magazine lives on in small-run zines and independent digital creators. Look for platforms that prioritize "by us, for us" content rather than just corporate-sponsored Pride month fluff.
- Study the Photography: Look up the work of Tee Corinne or Catherine Opie. Understanding how they framed the female and queer gaze helps put the magazine's visual rebellion into context.
The most important takeaway is that pleasure is political. When On Our Backs magazine showed a woman in a harness or a butch woman looking handsome and in charge, it wasn't just "porn." It was a claim to space in a world that wanted queer women to be either invisible or "polite." It was never polite. That was exactly the point.