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Fashion What Happened to Teen Magazines?

Jan. 30, 2025
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If you asked me to picture a teenage girl when I was growing up in the 2010s, a vivid pink-hued image would have popped into my mind: she’s draped over tiger-print bed covers, enveloped in a gallery of boy band posters and Polaroid photos, kicking bunny-slippered feet lazily through the air, thumbing through a teen magazine. Seventeen, maybe, or Elle Girl. She exudes style and nonchalance—actually, she’s probably Candace from Phineas and Ferb or Teddy from Good Luck Charlie. These Disney Channel girls and their friends were only depicted reading teen magazines a handful of times, but the image stuck: I expected my teen years to be glamorous, leisurely, and inundated with the personality quizzes and celebrity gossip of glossy magazines.


Having now stumbled my way through teenagehood, I can safely say it wasn’t what I expected. Those years weren’t lacking in quizzes or gossip, however: it was magazines that were absent. Rather than having hints of celebrity drama arrive in my mailbox twice a month, my Instagram feed funnels it to me on a daily basis—an IV drip of scandal and impropriety far removed from the published whispers of yesteryear. Rather than learning about fashion trends and adopting ideas about body image from women a few years older than me, I learned about them from people my own age, in the format of miniature videos and text posts. Rather than lying on my bed (no tiger-print!) flipping through magazines, I scrolled.


Although I know a handful of people my age who once read youth-oriented titles (like American Girl Magazine) or publications specific to a hobby (like Pointe Magazine) growing up, the vast majority of my generation paid no attention to generalized teen magazines. Aside from the occasional special issue of Seventeen, there areno more corporate teen magazines in print. Those which haven’t been discontinued entirely have shifted to an online format—Teen Vogue, for example, has been a solely digital publication since 2015 due to a steep decline in the number of teenagers reading magazines. Unsurprisingly, this coincides with the spike in popularity of social media. Most notable teen magazines were either discontinued or moved online in the early 2000s (Elle Girl was shuttered in 2006, for example, while CosmoGirl disappeared in 2008), during the early days of Facebook and MySpace: a cradle of civilization for the digital age, but a total collapse of the genre that was, in retrospect, a predecessor to the type of content now echoing across TikTok and Instagram.


Teen magazines enjoyed a fruitful lifespan before their demise. In the 1940s, when psychologists first determined that teenagers were capable of consuming content without parental supervisionthere were few outlets that catered to their particular interests and needs as a demographic. Seventeen was the first on the scene, having originated in 1944, and was followed by publications including YM and Teen—the three of which had roughly 6.9 million readers until the late ‘90s. The 1990s was the decade of teen magazines: teenagers were the fastest-growing segment of the population, and 12 to 19 year olds cumulatively spent over $175 billion per year on magazines. Online surveys conducted by SmartGirl and Young Adult Library Association starting in 1999 showed that two-thirds of adolescents regularly read teen magazines and considered them their favorite non-book reading material.


Teen magazines never took off with boys as much as they did with girls: while most girls’ magazines focused on beauty, fashion, and relationships, most boys’ magazines were hobby-oriented (such as GamePro, about the video game industry, or Thrasher, about skateboarding). Perhaps since the type of content in boys’ magazines did not differ tremendously from magazines like Sports Illustrated or ESPN, teen boys consequently turned to magazines meant for men. For girls, however, teen magazines represented more: surveys indicated that girls turned to magazines for advice about their personal lives, for fashion trends, for the same types of discussions they would have with a friend. In some cases, this meant they were getting said advice from sources that pushed misogynistic information about their bodies and interests. Seventeen, for example, initially catered to a stereotype of a teenage girl rather than a real teenage girl, sometimes pushing excessive content about beauty, fashion, and romance. Although the breadth of its content expanded over time to cover more substantial topics, it retained its core messaging about what a woman “should” be. In contrast, a teen magazine called Sassy, started in 1988 by 24-year-old Jane Pratt, distinguished itself as an outsider by publishing content with a distinctly feminist, youth-oriented lean.


A select few members of my generation have taken a shine to teen magazines, the same way a handful of us collect vinyl records and fawn over thrifted ‘90s clothes. The Y2K aesthetic has made a resurgence among Gen Z, and the fashion tips and design aspects of these magazines are the closest approximation my generation has to the real deal—Teen People and YM serve as primary sources for our scholarship.


Whether it was that same shimmer of Y2K mystique that drew me in, or an intrinsic desire to understand my parents’ generation, or some duty I now feel given my position as a magazine writer, I was intrigued by teen magazines. I decided to search for remnants of the magazines I might have read had I been a Disney Channel character. 


They say that what you post on the internet exists forever—digital permanence is typically mentioned in the same breath as digital danger—but the same cannot be said for teen magazines, which by nature are transient as the trends they promote. It was difficult to find physical copies of teen magazines from the 2010s, never mind the 90s. I tried a vintage bookstore in Boston, MA, which was bursting at the seams with antique copies of literary classics but boasted no dusty magazine section. I tried my local library, which kept archives of old town magazines for posterity, but possessed no popular titles. Even their modern magazine section was a bit scant; it was the only section of the library with gaps on the shelves, and it occupied a single aisle. During the couple hours I spent there, I saw only one person besides myself browse the library’s magazines before quickly moving onto a different section. Old magazines are available for purchase on websites like Ebay, but these sellers drive a hard bargain: most ‘80s and ‘90s copies of Seventeen will run you $20 to $30, while Sassy magazines from the same decades tend to fall in the $30 to $40 range. 


There is, however, a sizable collection of old magazines online: I learned about two accounts that post (or posted) covers and excerpts from teen mags. Pages of Sassy can be found on @sassycans on Tumblr—the account has not been updated since 2017, but it contains a rich archive of magazine clippings that have accumulated since 2011. “Born in the 70s, frolicked in the 80s, came of age in the 90s,” reads the account’s header. “Sassy Magazine helped me not become a twat.” On Instagram, @thankyouatoosa posts pages from various magazines including Seventeen, CosmoGirl, and Teen Vogue, accompanied by captions such as: “Need to know everything about those strappy sneakers. Seventeen, 1999.” Internet Archive, always a reliable source for college students like myself, has a few old magazines available for browsing. Notably, one can find multiple issues of Seventeen (all post 1990s, unfortunately) and two full issues of Sassy on Internet Archive: the December and April 1992 issues. Digital versions proved the most accessible in my situation, but other magazine seekers should not write off the local library, vintage stores, or online shops for physical copies. Seek and ye shall find.


When I started looking through the magazines posted on @thankyouatoosa, I quickly became visually overwhelmed. Reading through the flashy cover lines, I got the sense that it wasn’t really me they were addressing, but some fantastical hybrid of a flawless woman and a mindless consumer. One Seventeen cover line read: “Pretty Hair Ideas / Plus: The Styles Guys Love Most!” Another, from a CosmoGirl issue: “371 Ways to Look Hot this Spring.” Seventeen, 2000: “WANT IT! BUY IT! 28 fashion pages to FIND IT!” Many of the articles feel a bit dated—gossip about Beyoncé kissing  Justin Timberlake isn’t super relevant these days, and Seventeen had a bad habit of suggesting clothing to hide curves and “flatter” larger bodies—but others stood the test of time. 


One article titled “Holiday Survival Kit,” from a 2002 issue of Seventeen, advised readers to pack objects like their phone book (to call friends), music, chocolate, and a yoga video for relaxation around the holidays; this is not dissimilar to TikToks where people suggest anxiety-reducing techniques to deal with difficult relatives and holiday stress. Seventeen had a handful of articles on relationships that ended up being mostly lighthearted and innocuous. A listicle called “17 free gifts to give him,” for example, suggested that readers make their boyfriend a book of favorite poems, send him on a scavenger hunt leading to a date, and give him a shout out on the “hottest radio station” in the area. Another Seventeen article, called “OK, we dissed your school…sorry!” hit close to home: “Bennington College: The pseudo-intellectual version of Reed or Bard. Can you say ‘poser alert’?” As a Bennington student, I was thrilled to discover that my college has been perceived as a place for pretentious show-offs since at least 2002—thank goodness the onus isn’t solely on my generation. Well played, Seventeen. 


Regardless of my personal impressions, the impact these magazines had on their original readers is palpable. Comments on @thankyouatoosa posts range from nostalgia (“One of my most favorite issues! The cover was perfection!”) to bitterness (“I remember having this issue and wanting to be this pretty SO BAD”) to exasperation (“Flattering pants? In the mid 2000s?”). Most commenters seemed to have no trouble expressing frustration with certain aspects of the magazines alongside warmhearted sentiment for the era they originated from.


I then turned to Sassy, which I knew would be more up my alley. My first impression upon browsing through the December issue was how similar the experience felt to scrolling on my phone. The table of contents advertised a number of topics that could easily come up on my social media feeds: a criticism of Doc Martens, for example, or “PMS: Misogynist Propaganda?” There are SPAM recipes, an “action-packed semiotic sightseeing tour of late capitalism,” an explanation of what it would take for humans to colonize Mars. It was an intriguing menu. I started to scroll down the pdf, through a jungle of cosmetic and clothing ads, and nearly forgot I wasn’t browsing Instagram. 


One aspect that differentiates this teen magazine from previous titles is the sizable youth contribution: this particular issue was “reader-produced,” which means it sourced content (including articles and photographs) from young creators. While Seventeen tends to have the vibe of a corporate Instagram account trying to resonate with the young’uns by posting Brat references, Sassy feels more like a fan account run by a sixteen-year-old. There’s a touch of edginess, overconfidence, and even clumsiness in the look and tone of the magazine, but that’s part of the fun: it doesn’t give you the sense that adult editors are forcing sexuality on young women, it isn’t afraid to publish silly articles about SPAM or critiques of capitalism, and it feels true to the interests and opinions of teenagers—even teenagers today.


Some of my favorite finds in Sassy: a tutorial for turning a pillowcase into a dress. An article where the authors attempted to color their hair with unconventional dyes, including food coloring, fruit juice, and crayola markers (this gave me serious nostalgia for the YouTube videos I used to watch on this very topic). An advice column where a panicked reader cried: “I shaved my eyebrows and they aren’t growing back? What can I do?” For another reader asking about binge eating, the magazine offered thoughtful and legitimate advice, closing out with an eating disorder support hotline.


The only section about body image in this issue was titled “You Are Beautiful,” and instead of giving makeup and fashion advice based on physical appearance, it asked readers to consider their sense of style and personality. “Some days you feel pretty, like Strawberry Shortcake, and others gawky, like Olive Oyl,” said Sassy. “But you always feel intensely. You are animated…You might wear: on an Olive Oyl day, black dresses, shirts with lace collars; on a Strawberry Shortcake day, baby doll dresses in pastel shades.” The models shown had their makeup done and photos taken by young adults or teens. “Maybe you are an eco-chick or maybe you are a rebel or maybe you are a glamour queen. No matter; you are beautiful because you are you,” read the pull quote.


In contrast, a search for “body positivity” on my Instagram immediately turned up two videos of immaculately thin women, both of whom referenced skinny-shaming—an issue entirely worthy of discussion, but a deviation from the origin and root concern of body positivity, which coincided with an activist-driven push in the 1990s for the equal treatment of fat people. The next video I encountered was a woman posting about her weight loss. My search also turned up posts from plus-size content creators, but the comment sections were chock-full of messages disparaging their bodies, accusing them of laziness, and promoting weight loss drugs. 


The messaging young women received about their bodies from certain teen magazines in the ‘90s and early 2000s (cough cough, Seventeen) was dubious at best and eating disorder fuel at worst. Rather than striving toward a more modern ideal of body neutrality, however, the Internet is concerned with ensuring that young girls buy shapewear, apply anti-aging cream, and save up for their face lifts. Social media occupies the same role that teen magazines did in promoting unrealistic standards; the only difference is the comment section, which offers up people’s bodies to a brand of public scrutiny powered by sexism and intensified by anonymity. These comments tend to oscillate between overt cruelty and gross sexualization. I encountered a post under the #bodypositivity tag from an 18-year-old girl. The top comment: “Don’t normalize these displays of female narcissism disguised as self-love.” One scroll down: “You’re fondling yourself on social media. Classy.”


Comparing this to a magazine like Sassy, it’s easy to feel like we’re moving in the wrong direction. In regard to body image, perhaps we are: the rate of eating disorders has more than doubled between 2000 and 2018. However, Sassy was operating as a safe haven within a highly misogynistic sphere, and spaces like this magazine still exist, both digitally and physically. The one contemporary teen magazine I found at my library was called Teen Mindfulness, a 2023 magazine from the British publishing company Future. The cover was sprinkled with messages to “Embrace the Real You,” “Overcome Your Demons,” and “Be Positive,” while the contents included chapters about minimizing phone usage, processing pent-up emotions, and expressing gratitude. There are no photos—this is an illustrated magazine, utilizing those curvy two-dimensional Corporate Memphis figures often seen in modern advertising. There were short writing prompts and coloring pages throughout, allowing a reader to insert themselves onto the page.


Notably, it had a sizable segment on body image, accompanied by how-tos for adopting body neutrality and enjoying the experience of having a body (rather than enjoying the appearance of it). There were some decently nuanced takes in this section: “On one hand, you may judge your body harshly because your physical appearance is not what you aspire to,” reads Teen Mindfulness. “On the other, you may judge yourself for struggling to be positive about your body, even though you know you should be.” This was the type of messaging that magazines of previous decades commonly lacked—it neither ignores the fact of the body nor promotes a certain type, but encourages young readers to free their self-image from outside expectations and learn to love being themselves. The number of active teen magazines has diminished along with their consumer base, but if this was any indication, there are still magazines that care for and understand the needs of young readers, and they are adapting alongside the generations.


At 20 years old, I’ve narrowly missed my chance to dive into the world of teen magazines, but that doesn’t mean the door is entirely closed. This past Christmas, I received an issue of a literary magazine called F(r)iction—it’s gorgeously illustrated, packed with short stories, and it contains things I love now (pretty prose, solid storytelling) and things I loved when I was younger (celestial aesthetics, fantasy, comics). If you’re on the cusp about getting back into magazines, or trying magazines for the first time, let this be a sign: you may not be a teenage girl reading Sassy in a neon pink bedroom, but there’s something out there for you.








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