I first encountered Gloria Steinem in the 1960s in the pages of Glamour magazine. I don’t remember what she was writing about, though it was a number of articles over a couple of years – she wrote for them regularly, though I have not yet seen a mention of that particular magazine in the obituaries.
I can’t tell you who else wrote for Glamour back then, or much of what else was in the magazine. It was aimed at selling beauty products and clothes to young women and most of the articles promoted that in some way. It was, in many ways, the antithesis of MS. magazine, which Steinem and others started a few years later.
But I noticed Steinem from the first piece of hers I read. It was smart. She clearly had something to say. And after that, I sought out issues of the magazine that had an article by her.
I was a young teenager, but I disdained the magazines aimed at people my age. After all, I was already reading adult fiction and had been since about the age of 10. (Young adult fiction was laughable back then. Sue Barton, Student Nurse. I outgrew that by the age of 8.)
Even Seventeen seemed too childish for me, but Glamour (which was probably aimed at people in their late teens, early 20s) struck me as sophisticated without being out of reach, like Vogue was.
And yes, I read more serious magazines as well. The New Yorker (albeit mostly the cartoons). The Atlantic. The Texas Observer. But I was a young girl trying to figure out where I fit into the world, so I turned to Glamour as well.
Having read a lot of her work, I took Steinem very seriously when she got involved in second wave feminism and started MS. I continued to take her seriously throughout her life.
I didn’t idolize her or worship her. I don’t do that, and part of why I don’t do that is precisely because of feminism. Feminism taught me that I mattered, that I could be part of the discussion, a serious part of the community, that I could argue with others for what I thought was right.
You can’t argue with idols, but you can – and should – with people you respect. I respected Gloria Steinem. I think she was right about most things and, as some have noted in the obituaries, continued to be good at listening and changing her mind throughout her life.
But the thing that hit me when I read of her death, the thing that made me both remember why Steinem was important to me and taught me something about myself, was that I first noticed her as a writer. Because that’s where I start, where I always start, with the written word.
Don’t get me wrong. I can be moved by powerful speakers, rendered wordless by great works of art, blown away by theater, and shown the light by music. Of the famous people who’ve died in the last year, the one that hit me hardest was Joe Ely, because I saw him perform many times over the years and he always put everything that he was out on that stage. (His albums are great, but he was electric live.)
But still, mostly I start with the written word, and when I find people who manage to put truth on the page – even in relatively frivolous women’s magazines from before second wave feminism – I get hooked. I pay attention to what those people do, to the other things they write, to who they are.
And perhaps because I also write and know a lot of writers, I’m capable of admiring the work and respecting the person without expecting them to be perfect, without giving up my right to disagree with what they said or think about it in different ways.
I mean, that’s a great deal of what reading is about – finding ideas and stories and trying them on in your own mind. That’s probably why I’m not much good at fandom. I don’t squee at writers (or others) I respect and admire; I just think and talk and write about what they have to say.
Gloria Steinem was one of the people who opened that door in my mind. She did it for a lot of people, I suspect. We were lucky to have her.