Good Housekeeping 1987: Margarine love, keeping a firm thumb on one's daughter and steamy love scenes

From whence this beauty came: A magazine drive at work for an employee’s brother who has special needs and loves magazines. My boss hit up a branch of the Kansas City Public Library for the ones they had that were a few months old, and they found this awesome 1987 Good Housekeeping buried in their archives.

Best advertisement: For KY Jelly, “The vaginal lubricant doctors recommend.” In its 10 - yup, 10 - paragraphs of copy, it mentions, “K-Y Jelly is also preferred by millions of married couples.” (my emphasis)

Because only married people bumped nasties in 1987.

Best decorating inspiration: 

Somebody’d better hold me down before I go paint all of my cabinets and appliances this sweet, glossy egg yolk. 

Most frequently advertised products: Pantyhose, by far; craft project kits; margarines. And in the classified section in the back, there are no fewer than eight military schools to which you can send off that pesky teenage son. 

Why didn’t this catch on?

Best pull quotes: 

- From the article, “My teenage daughter was pregnant” : 

“Steve was my daughter’s first boyfriend - and I’d never trusted him.”

- From the article, “I stopped my daughter’s wedding” : 

“‘You have no right to do this,’ my daughter said. ‘I have every right,’ I countered. ‘I’m your father.’”

- From the included novel (see Nostalgic section below): 

“She closed her eyes and slipped her arms around his naked back. Here was warmth and security, here - at long last - was love.” 

Best advice: In the “Ask the Family Doctor” column, a woman writes in that she has severe pain during a pelvic exam. She says she’s a 33-year-old virgin. The old, bearded, white guy doctor responds that it’s probably because she just needs to relax and, “This could be one of those rare instances in which a small dose of a tranquilizer, taken an hour or so before the exam, might be very helpful.”

The thing I actually had in my room: Maybe my mom read Good Housekeeping during my childhood.

What makes me nostalgic: Fiction. There are two pieces of fiction in this magazine, one a shorter love story, and one a full-blown romance novel (I guess this is what the housewife readers of this magazine indulged in while the kids were at school.) The short story, titled, “Who is my love?”, has this tantalizing lead-in: “Mitsi had only one future … and two wonderful men who wanted to share it with her. How - oh, how - would she ever choose between them?”

Anyway, why isn’t there fiction in magazines anymore? It doesn’t have to be nearly so cheesy. I miss that.

The “we’ve come a long way, baby” moments:

• Microwaves evidently were super amazing and new, although I’m pretty sure we had one before 1987. It was the size of a subcompact car, but I never remember not having one. Anyway, there’s a whole section devoted to “microwave cookery.” 
• Whereas today when you want more information about a product or service advertised or mentioned in the editorial content you just go to a web site, then you had to send away for a booklet. For everything. There’s even a “10 Best Money-Saving Booklets to Send Away For” article.
• No one realized margarine was awful for you. It’s touted over and over as so much better for you than butter, and that you should just let your family go at a tub of it with spoons. 
• An advertisement for the “highest protection ever” for a sunscreen: SPF 24. Today, I have SPF 20 in the foundation I wear on a daily basis, and when I plan to spend some time outside, I slather on SPF 50 or 70. No wonder I got blistery, pus-filled shoulder sunburns after a day at the water park as a kid, despite frequent sunscreen application: science had not yet caught up with the protection needs of my pale skin.

And of course, no 80s magazine review would be complete without some sweet fashion and hair pages:

It's only a matter of time before Forever 21 tries to sell teenagers travel scene sweaters with shoulder pads again.

80s hair required so much work. Why did we do that?