In my time, I’ve made fun of Maxim. I got a kick out of the chicken-greased girls on the covers, the silly headlines, the boobs-and-beer aesthetic of it all. My understanding was that Maxim addressed its readers as if they were lecherous frat boys with grades that didn’t pass muster, incapable of understanding any statement more complex than “me want see chest bouncy-bounce on dance girls.” I found this hilarious.
Yet, deep inside, I felt that I was being unfair to Maxim. In spite of all the jokes, I had never really read it. So, this week, I sat down with Maxim, to let it explain to me, in its own words, what it’s all about. Here, for your edification, is a transcript of our date.* Read More »




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