Imagine this: Each time you refill your glass of chocolate milk at Frary, you are unknowingly examined—essentially scouted—by a recent college grad. You’ve never spoken to him before because he’s just the kind of guy (you can tell by looking at him) who got 10 fives on his APs and then told the whole world about it, and you generally try to avoid associating with gentlemen belonging to such an archetype.
I suppose you would be a little freaked out, “OMGz he’s a creepasaurus!”
But what if you knew that this same fellow was not sizing up your bodacious curves merely for his own genital amusement, but rather eyeing you solely to determine whether or not to offer you, an attractive diner at Frary, a centerfold spread in his startup porn magazine. Presented with this situation, some might run to the pubescent safety of Frank, but the brave hearted would, I hope, embrace the unique opportunity and proceed to allow the strange man’s camera unfettered access to the remote cavities and bulges of their liberated human bodies.
Unfortunately for the voyeuristic among us, Pomona hasn’t produced a student-run Playboy, yet. However, a testosterone-filled Harvard grad, Matt di Pasquale, has, the result being the increasingly popular Diamond Magazine.
Before I delve into what will unavoidably be an overly supercilious review of Diamond, a note: In no way will I try, like a recent Daily Princetonian columnist, to dismiss Diamond, or any other forthcoming collection of student nudity, as a mere “deplorable dishrag.” For me, or anybody else, to say so without analyzing the specifics of the nudity itself would be premature, unfair to the models, and, at least in my own case or that of any other veteran pornography viewer, wildly hypocritical.
That said, the current financial crisis has curbed my capacity to pay the $9.99 required to view the entirety of the first and, for now, only issue available online, so these following points–you must forgive me–apply only to the 15 page sample issue, available at diamond-mag.com.
I found fault with the prose of the interviews. Long a staple of the Hefnerian approach, model interviews, when done right, allow us to appreciate the human side of the supine lady-studs or erect man-beasts, thereby endowing us with the capability to feel better about our emerging artificial arousal. We can then empathize with and understand the depths of their beautiful souls, which really means that we, the viewers, don’t feel as bad about not getting laid as we would have otherwise.
But a Diamond interview of Andrea, a petite Harvard brunette, concludes that “posing nude was so liberating for her. It felt good for her to lose her inhibitions and pose naked.” Why did I read that? I feel a lot dumber for having done so.
However, the magazine has added the brilliant feature of listing the models’ email addresses, enabling the sexually daring to ask follow-up questions, sort of like a professor’s office hours.
Sadly, I was less than impressed with some of the models themselves…Most everybody I know, the exception being an eccentric high school friend with a deep interest in Bridget the Midget, the world’s smallest porn star, wants to fantasize over a guy or girl broadly and culturally defined as “hot.” Which isn’t to say that fetish porn stars (e.g. furry stars dressed as rabbits, vampires, pregnant actresses, and grannies) aren’t “hot,” just that a majority of Americans don’t think so. That’s why fetishes are fetishes.
And many of the Issue 1 models just aren’t “hot” enough to cut it. Even by my admittedly low standards, there wasn’t a single one in there that I would bring home from Pizza N Such. Oh noes!
The solution is pretty obvious: expand Diamond’s recruiting base. A heretofore unmentioned aspect of Diamond, considered by its founder to be its strength—although, I would assume, by everybody else as a failing—is that the magazine exclusively employs Harvard, Yale, and Princeton students. What did they think would happen?
Sure, it’s a nifty reversal of roles. But the exclusivity creates two nasty side effects: Harvard kids improbably seem even snottier than they usually do, and the untapped reservoirs of, say, UMichigan and UVA remain buried away from curious eyes (which, for the purpose of this article, is not a good thing).
This reader still was able to find a positive in the androgyny of many of Diamond’s models. Really, every Diamond reader (is that a misnomer?) with a sexual interest in any form of human should be able to find something that they like.
In the end, I would say that the erotic highs tower above the aesthetic lows. This is, after all, a collection of photographs of unclothed college students. How could it fail? (I told you, I have low standards.) Which begs the question: Why doesn’t Pomona have one too? The only conceivable valid criticism—because don’t even try to tell me that contemporary standards of morality prevent it—would be that not enough muses would volunteer to make Pomona Uncovered worth it.
And if my first months at Pomona have taught me anything at all, it is this: We love nudity. Here is a brief recap of this freshman’s first Claremont memories:Day 1: Sponsors streaked through Little Bridges.Day 2: Anonymous guy streaks during freshman skits.Day 3: Spotted, a group of frolickers kicking it in the pool, birthday suits flaunted.
See the trend? Again, why don’t we have a public collection of eternalized nudity? Better yet, why hasn’t any student (to my knowledge) made a public sex tape? Don’t we love sex? And watching it?
I suppose we’re all a bit timid, or perhaps Bruce J. Poch waitlisted the California state champion sex choreographer who applied last year. Either way, if any daring reader wants to break the harrowing void, stop by Lyon and let’s see what we can do.