During the '80s, the word feminist began to take on an almost invariably negative connotation, as the reactionary Right and a predominantly male press perpetuated the myth that feminism was a hoary '60s conceit perpetuated only by obese, humorless man-haters intent on destroying all that is good and pure about civilization. But while mainstream society, and particularly the mainstream press, tends to write off feminism as an antiquated vestige of outdated idealism, considering it useful only to provide some sort of insight into the psychology of the world's post-feminist Ally McBeals and Spice Girls, there have long been pockets of resistance. One vital pocket is Bitch, a smart, biting magazine that cares deeply enough about popular culture to take it seriously, and to hold it accountable for its often grotesque and blatant sexism. In the new issue's most biting and hilarious article, senior editor Andi Zeisler gleefully takes on the new batch of comically similar men's magazines—each the bastard offspring of Playboy—that, as Zeisler scathingly points out, encourage readers' "lying, cheating, and reveling in their bad behavior, all while wearing a Prada anorak and bulletproof sneakers." Zeisler's piece is worth the price of the magazine, and it typifies Bitch's affectionate but skeptical take on popular culture, as well as its hostility and impatience with today's casual, persistent sexism. A few of Bitch's pieces reek of bleeding-heart fuzziness, but for the most part, the magazine is a whip-smart, irreverent tonic for those tired of the glossy, substance-free periodicals that litter newsstands.