Before Ms. magazine’s first issue came out in 1972, there was no real safe space or forum for women’s issues to be discussed. The new HBO Max documentary Dear Ms.: A Revolution in Print tells the magazine’s origin story, when it was first cooked up by journalist and feminist Gloria Steinem as an antidote to women’s rags promoting nothing but homemaking and fashion, and creating conversations around everything from abortion to domestic abuse to pornography. Told in three parts, each one examining some of the most influential issues of the magazine, the documentary explores the incredible impact and enduring legacy of the imprint that was reviled by some and celebrated by others.
Opening Shot: The definition of the title “Ms.” appears onscreen. “Ms.: A conventional title of courtesy before a woman’s surname. Prefix used instead of Miss or Mrs. (as when the marital status of a woman is unknown or irrelevant).” As we’ll later learn in the film, the name Ms. was one of many thrown around for this new women’s magazine. Other contenders included Lilith, Bitch, Sojourner and Bimbo.
The Gist: Ms. magazine was revolutionary when it first debuted in 1972; never before had a magazine addressed issues – political, cultural, personal – with such a woman-forward, unabashedly feminist agenda.
Dear Ms.: A Revolution in Print, is a three-part film helmed by three different directors, Salima Koroma, Alice Gu, and Cecilia Aldarondo, each of whom has selected certain Ms. cover stories as anchors, using their themes to reflect on the important topical and cultural touchstones the magazine brought to light. Part one, titled “A Magazine for All Women,” was directed by Koroma and begins with a profile of Ms. co-founder Gloria Steinem, who already established herself as a successful journalist in the 1960s, but found a cause in the fledgling Women’s Liberation movement. Steinem partnered with publishers Letty Cottin Pogrebin and Pat Carbine and, with the support of New York Magazine, the women were able to put out a test issue of a new feminist magazine. Ironically, Steinem and most of the writers who contributed to the magazine began their careers at other women’s magazines which, she says, “we didn’t read – they simply didn’t say what are the truths of women’s lives.”
Part one is a fascinating reminder that many of the conversations that exist now (and in fact are even being challenged right now, things like abortion, child care, women’s health, and LGBTIA+ issues) were not freely discussed or taken seriously at that time, and the question of whether Ms. would even get a second issue was a valid one. So the first issue, released in January 1972, emblazoned with the Hindu goddess Kali, a multi-armed woman who was the very picture of every woman’s multi-tasking mental load, contained as much content as the magazine could print. Articles about modern marriage, abortion, race, and what it means to be a lesbian, it was all in the very first issue – which was critically eviscerated by newsman Harry Reasoner. That only helped build buzz, and the first issue sold out.
Part one addresses many of the major accomplishments of the magazine, like acknowledging the intersectionality of women’s lib and the civil rights movement, while also addressing its shortcomings, like not actually hiring enough Black writers or putting diverse faces on its covers, despite their best intentions. The magazine’s founders, as well as several writers who were critics of their practices, give voice to these issues, giving credit where it’s due but wishing some things could be done differently, bu back then, there are a lot of things we as a culture let slide out of ignorance and complacency, even despite our best intentions.
Part two, by director Alice Gu, is called “Ms.: A Portable Friend” and it focuses on the relationship readers had with the magazine. From letters to the editor to the impact the magazine had on the culture, it makes that case that Ms. had a direct hand in changing not just public discourse, but government legislation as it related to women.
There was plenty of backlash to the magazine due to unhappy husbands whose wives upended the comfortable norms they were accustomed to. As editor Letty Cottin Pogrebin says, “We were taking power away from people who thought they were born into it.” But the magazine’s coverage of controversial topics like domestic abuse and sexual harassment was so new (the terms “battered wives” and “sexual harassment” weren’t even in the public discourse prior to the cover stories Ms. published) that they helped spawn domestic abuse helplines and support groups, sexual harassment protection laws in the workplace, and more. This segment makes clear just how much we own to Ms. for being bold enough – in spite of public backlash, despite limiting the magazine’s ad revenue – to even address these issues that were rarely, if ever, made public.
The final segment of the film, “No Comment,” directed by Cecilia Aldarondo, reflects on the role that Ms. played in the conversation around pornography. While Ms. initially drew distinctions between more tasteful, sensual erotica and more aggressive, male-oriented porn, they became embroiled in a larger conversation about censorship, consent, and sex work. This issue, and the fact that Ms. offered space to pro-porn activists, proved difficult for many of the magazines readers and contributors, including writer Andrea Dworkin, to support. But despite that, they persevered and still exist today.
That the magazine – and the views expressed in it – have been allowed to evolve and reflect over time feels like proof that it was and still is aspirational and well-intentioned, a work in progress, devoted to progress.
What Shows Will It Remind You Of? Though this is a documentary about real-life events, you can’t help but think that the wonderful (canceled) show Minx, where Ophelia Lovibond starred as a Steinem-inspired feminist magazine editor, took quite a bit of inspiration from the trajectory and social effects of Ms. There’s also The Glorias, a 2020 biopic directed by Julie Taymor, as well as Mrs. America, a lightly fictionalized retelling of the movement to get the ERA (Equal Rights Amendment) passed in the ’70s; Julianne Moore and Rose Byrne star, respectively, as Steinem in these projects.
Our Take: There are countless ways that Ms. magazine was groundbreaking and shifted culture, giving name to previously nameless issues and causes, voicing concerns that were often suffered in silence. Dear Ms.: A Revolution in Print is a celebration of the magazine and the women who fought to make it relevant, but perhaps more importantly, it offers plenty of insight into its failings, too. Ms. was a feminist magazine helmed by white women, and though they championed civil rights, sexual freedom, and and LGBTQIA+ issues, they often fell short when it came to true representation and intersectionality. The first segment of the film allows women like and to reflect on the bittersweet feelings they had toward the magazine that wasn’t always equitable and
What progress Steinem, Cottin Pogrebin, Carbine, and the rest who were in charge made was truly revolutionary, and to their credit, everyone who was in charge at one point or another acknowledges their own shortcomings at the time. (You can argue both side of this coin – on the one hand, simply writing about race, abortion, sex work, and queerness in 1972 was a feat, but on the other hand, a lot of people who could have represented marginalized groups were not in the room.) The film purports to be a lesson about the history of Ms. as told by a few of its most famous magazine covers, and while it roughly adheres to that, each filmmaker breaks out of those confines to address bigger issues. The magazine gave voice to millions of women, causing people to realize that being a woman is often a political act in itself, and for all the ways that the magazine evolved or could have improved, were it not for Ms., the world would look very different for women.
Sex and Skin: Dear Ms.: A Revolution in Print‘s third act in particular features a lot of nudity and clips of vintage pornography, but it there for context, not titillation.
Parting Shot: Adult film actress Annie Sprinkle, an advocate of pornography and sex work, was not asked to participate in any of the magazine’s articles about pornography when the magazine covered the topics in the 1970s and ’80s, but was finally invited to write an article for them years later. Using cookies as an allegory for sex, she wrote, “We all need some cookie healing. So, the next time you eat a cookie, take a moment to reflect that in every cookie crumb is an entire universe.”
Memorable Dialogue: “Women would say ‘I feel as if a friend came into my door and told me I was not crazy,'” Gloria Steinem says at the beginning of the film, reflecting on the fact that, before the publication of Ms., many women never articulated much of what was going on in their lives, for fear that it was just not normal.
Our Call: STREAM IT! Dear Ms. is a history lesson focusing on the magazine’s impact on second wave feminism as it was happening. But the film also views this history through a critical lens and allows many other voices, often those omitted from some of Ms.‘ most important conversations, to finally speak, too.
Liz Kocan is a pop culture writer living in Massachusetts. Her biggest claim to fame is the time she won on the game show Chain Reaction.