Editor’s note: This commentary is by Walt Amses, who is a writer and former educator who lives in North Calais.
As kayaks, canoes and paddle boards replace skis and snowboards on rooftop carriers across Vermont, it might be an opportune time to reflect on the curious collaboration between Burton and Playboy that might be testimony to the fading fortunes of men’s magazines and a dramatic slowdown of snowboarding’s once meteoric ascendency. Although it’s difficult to imagine a mundane exercise in chauvinism generating much of a stir — especially in the age of Trump — it appears both companies might benefit from any publicity they can get, the more controversial the better.
Burton has been hammered, albeit briefly, for their decision, which objectifies women and perpetuates the ideal Playboy has promoted for the last six decades: almost unattainable bodily perfection of a sort. But the response was mostly a blip compared to what happened in 2008 when bunny boards first appeared, generating universal outrage leading to the offending boards being banned at slopes across the country including several here in Vermont.
But in the ensuing eight years times have changed at an accelerating pace. Both Playboy and snowboarding suffer from waning interest, lacking the edginess that once propelled them to dominate their respective recreational fields.
Hugh Hefner is an almost 90-year-old anachronism: iconic, pajama-clad and pipe-smoking. Reclusively rattling around his mansion with bionically enhanced women, young enough to be his great-granddaughters catering to his every whim. It’s baffling why Burton — once a veritable template of hip — would contract with Playboy enterprises to use the once-ubiquitous bunny logo and — worse — actual photographs of woman on the bottoms of snowboards.
Historically, the ascent of Playboy was also the manifestation of cool, beginning in the mid-’50s (think “Mad Men”) until its eventual demise, done in by a culture whose lasciviousness was unimaginable in the Eisenhower years. The magazine provided an at times illuminating backdrop for the turbulent last half of the 20th century, arriving at a time when the first wave of 76 million baby boomers was about to enter puberty.
Most males of a certain age had a more than casual acquaintance with Playboy back in the day, either through mystically discovering where a father, uncle or older brother had hidden theirs, or later, clandestinely finding a discreet location for concealing their own. Acquiring a copy of Playboy during adolescence was a bug-eyed and, in retrospect (and in context), innocent rite of passage: A lustful little leaguer’s quest for the perceived perfection embodied in a stapled navel.
Given our instincts were more evolutionary than intellectual, we couldn’t help but look, while our other eye was trained on the horizon, looking for God, carrying a five-gallon gas can and flicking a Zippo.
My parochial school crowd certainly felt guilt, but it was the wrong kind … slapped into us by cadaverous nuns, promoting an all-loving God who wouldn’t hesitate to set 12-year-olds on fire for such transgressions. Given our instincts were more evolutionary than intellectual, we couldn’t help but look, while our other eye was trained on the horizon, looking for God, carrying a five-gallon gas can and flicking a Zippo.
As we matured — grew older, anyway — the magazine tagged along through military service, and then, perhaps college, evolving from obsession to embarrassment while becoming frankly, less necessary, with the sexual revolution, women’s movement and a heady wave of youthful freedom permeating every aspect of the culture.
Although Playboy was never the kind of magazine you’d find anyone but a degenerate reading on the bus or subway despite the steadfast rationale of reading it “for the articles,” it did unarguably include a stellar list of contributions from a veritable “Who’s Who” of writers; interviews with political leaders and up-to-the-minute tips on maximizing your heterosexuality which feel skin-crawlingly archaic and completely out of touch from a 2016 vantage point.
The rabbit began losing its mojo when other men’s magazines — Hustler and Penthouse — raised the graphic ante to the point they became more like medical journals or anatomy and physiology textbooks. Subsequently, the years, as well as the uptick in free-range cyber porn, took their toll. Playboy announced in 2015 that the magazine would no longer feature any nudity at all.
An estimated 30 percent drop in participation over the last several years has the snowboarding industry contemplating a similar fate as the initial generation of shredders approaches middle age and advances in ski technology make skiing far easier and more competitive for the winter sports market.
Given their respective dilemmas, it’s no mystery why Burton and Playboy might choose to share a lifeboat, hoping to ride out their respective storms. More baffling is why Burton would hook up with the rabbit logo, about as edgy and counter culture as the Easter Bunny, and why anyone else would care.
