Rudolph Giuliani spent the better part of his two mayoral terms transforming Manhattan's squalid peep-show parlors into permissible family-oriented video emporia. I personally considered it a worthy occupation, as the triple-X shop on my block blighted the neighborhood. But there is nothing ambiguous about the neon words "NAKED GIRLS LIVE," so I never mistakenly entered an adult video store thinking that it was a Blockbuster. However, because of new city council ordinances that prescribe an acceptable ratio of sexual to nonsexual material throughout a store (especially near the cashier) if it wants to stay open, these instructive illuminated signs have all but vanished. In fact a few months ago, believing that a new local establishment was a "party" store, as advertised in its front window, I entered with my 11-year-old son looking for favors only to find a few goody-bag items nestled among a surfeit of leather "love-making" paraphernalia. Apparently other residents had the same problem, because recently the shop was replaced by a pet store (although I intend to make extra certain that there's absolutely no ambiguity there).

Nonetheless, in his zeal to eradicate pornography (and boost property values) Mayor Giuliani failed to realize that community standards have changed significantly from when he was a federal prosecutor. These days one needn't be a peep-show parlor habitué to get titillation on demand. Thanks to intense competition within the field of men's and women's fashion/lifestyle magazines, one merely has to frequent the numerous news shops found in most Manhattan neighborhoods to get a hit of salaciousness. Although many proprietors continue the venerable practice of veiling Playboy, Penthouse, Hustler, and Boobs in brown paper wrappers, they don't do the same for Cosmopolitan, Details, Gear, GQ, Maxim, Stuff, Vibe, and countless other "mainstream" magazines that routinely feature extremely sexy, thong-underwear-bikini-clad or seminude female models on their covers. What was once sequestered in the "adult" section or behind the counter of a smoke shop or luncheonette is now displayed on brightly lit racks for all to see. And on any given month there is an eyeful to behold--especially last winter, when five magazines featured women with almost completely bare breasts during the same month, and the following month a few of the same magazines showed women in fetching S&M leather ensembles.

Call me old-fashioned, but the porn chic that is acceptable on magazine covers today is rather shocking, particularly given my own experience. More than three decades ago--when I was seventeen--I was the first art director of SCREW: The Sex Review, and subsequently copublished and designed The New York Review of Sex, both "underground" tabloids. I can't tell you how difficult it was back then to get newsstand owners to display a publication with even a hint of sexual explicitness. These dealers rightfully feared that the "morals squad," the name given to the NYPD's vice cops, would swoop down, arrest them, and confiscate the contraband. It required a huge number of monetary promises and legal assurances to obtain a reasonable showing. And believe me, the covers of these things were not anywhere near as sensual (or slick) as today's average lifestyle magazine. Nevertheless, neighborhood police as well as morals squad cops issued summonses and made arrests on charges that ranged from indecent exposure to pandering, or whatever other trumped-up statute could be used to harass. However, such actions were eventually deemed unconstitutional by the courts, and within a short time three-quarters frontal nudity led to full-frontal nudity from the waist up. Which eventually prompted Playboy, Penthouse, and Hustler to become much fleshier as well.

European periodicals, including weekly "news" magazines such as Der Stern and Paris Match, have traditionally been more liberal in terms of cover nudity--or what one might call "incidental breasts," in which subjects just happen to be nude (always more tantalizing than posed, self-conscious nudity, anyway). In the late sixties Twen, a popular slick German monthly aimed at teenagers, featured beautiful nude nymphs romping on the cover of every issue. But in those days international news shops were rare in New York, so a store like Hotalings in Times Square was a destination for avid aficionados. Today every news shop contains a large quantity of imported publications competing for consumers. So it's not surprising that American magazine publishers feel pressure to up the ante on sexuality, if only to keep their native audiences.

The buffer zone between Victoria's Secret catalogs and hard-core porn is called "cheesecake." In the sixties even this was taboo, but today news shops sell as much cheesecake as Junior's, the famous Brooklyn restaurant known for its creamy confections. So for those who are satisfied with the softer pleasures, magazine covers have become a form of stimulation. What began with the annual Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue has evolved into a monthly event. Maxim, a slick and raunchy title for men, is among the hottest of the new breed. Although its covers push the limits of prurience through a regular diet of models wearing tight-fitting, nipple-punctuated lingerie and leather, it does not show full nudity either on the cover or inside--setting a new cheesecake standard that other magazines have adopted. Buttock, thigh, and cleavage with a hint of nipple appear to be the standard fare for magazines like Gear and Details, although men's magazines are not its only showcases. Both old and new women's (and girls') magazines offer runways full of semidressed models. And even some of the shelter magazines, including an occasional issue of Wallpaper*, have their share of sexpots on the covers.

News dealers used to scream "This is not a library!" at those who loitered around browsing the pages of magazines. But today they seem to welcome it. It has become something of a ritual, too. News shops in New York may not have flashing signs announcing "GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS," or barkers herding lonely soldiers behind beaded curtains, but their shop windows are usually filled with the sexiest covers of the week. (I rarely see Time or Newsweek in a window.) Inside there is little to distinguish them from peep shows. Sexy covers are lined up in rows like beauty pageant contestants. Is it just me, or has anyone else noticed this phenomenon? Maybe people just aren't acknowledging it, lest Giuliani try to close down news stores too.

Steven Heller is editor of Sex Appeal: The Art of Allure in Advertising and Graphic Design and author of The Swastika: Symbol Beyond Redemption (Allworth Press).