The New Iberian Macho in Democratic Spain: Modern Men in the Men’s Magazines?

Abstract

The evolution of men’s fashion and lifestyle magazines in Spain since the 1970s reflects shifts in male identity, influenced by the country’s transition from dictatorship to democracy and the liberalizing period of el Destape. This study examines how these magazines capture the adaptations of the “modern man”, emphasizing his pursuit of freedom and alignment with global trends. By analyzing the content of men’s magazines and contrasting them with women’s publications, this study identifies gendered consumption patterns and the role of magazines as both historical records and consumer products. Comparisons reveal how men and women were positioned as both subjects and objects. Results show that men’s magazines initially centered on lifestyle and erotic themes, with successful titles like MAN outlasting less defined publications. Over time, male-targeted magazines broadened their content, increasingly presenting men as consumers of lifestyle topics. This shift parallels the growth of new male-focused magazines since the 2000s, which now leverage social media-driven trends to attract audiences. The study concludes that these magazines have not only shaped male identity but have also reflected capitalist consumer strategies, adapting to digital contexts. Modern male lifestyle magazines, while diversifying themes, remain influenced by traditional gender dynamics that underscore male dominance in cultural narratives.

1. Introduction

Questioning the prevailing models of masculinity in each historical moment is a relatively recent historiographical issue (Hoolbrook et al. 2024). Analyzing these models through the lens of media allows for a closer examination of the sender’s intentionality and its influence on the receiver. This paper analyzes the emergence of the so-called “masculine” press in Spain (at an earlier stage, it also includes erotic/pornographic publications) and its relationship with the normative or hegemonic model of masculinity, as well as the influence of other emerging masculinities within the framework of the transition to democracy (freedom of print and speech, equality by law, sexual and reproductive rights, and no censorship) and its consolidation until the late 1990s. The socio-cultural changes that occurred during these years enabled an expansion of cultural models of masculinity. Our objective is to assess whether the masculine press reflected the various emerging types of masculinities or maintained the normative model established by institutional authority.

It is possible to track this man through his new phase of freedom, expressed both in terms of information and sexuality, by examining the content of men’s magazines, which serve as historical testimonies. This content, as an object of consumption for the male consumer, provides insight into the interests of this demographic.

The study of masculinities in the Anglo-Saxon world emerged in relation to the feminist advances of the second wave, which led some men to reflect on their role within the patriarchal structure, the entry of women into the labor market, and the rise in movements advocating for homosexual rights (Trujano and Vázquez 2021). In the United States, Men’s Studies first appeared in the 1970s, connected to the fields of sociology and psychology. Since the late 1990s, as Michael Kimmel has argued, attention shifted toward the humanities (Kimmel 2008), leading to the publication of a growing number of studies on cultural representations of masculinity in literature, film, art, music, media, and other forms. These studies have addressed a variety of topics, such as cultural representations of male sexualities, the male body, fatherhood, friendship, and gender-based violence.

In Spain, this area of study has also developed recently, linked to both the cultural turn in historiography and the development of studies framed within gender history. Progress in this field has enhanced the understanding of women’s history, particularly in relation to power, public space, marriage, and violence, among other topics. Nerea Aresti has emphasized the importance of studying masculinities to understand the experiences of both men and women (Aresti 2020). Political and cultural history has increasingly adopted this approach, with an intersectional perspective that considers factors such as race, religion, class, nation, and age. In recent decades, the study of masculinity has been influenced by the complexity that contemporary social relations have acquired, incorporating new theoretical paradigms that reveal the multiplicity of masculinities (Gómez Beltrán 2019).

Indeed, Jeff Hearn (1998) emphasized the polysemic nature of the concept, arguing that there is not a single masculinity but multiple masculinities, and thus we must speak of masculinities in the plural. Similarly to how Simone de Beauvoir argued that being a woman is a social construct, the question of what it means to be a man is met with various reconstructions of that model. Connell (1995), from the University of Sydney, is a key scholar in the study of masculinities. For Connell, masculinities are essentially social constructions and, therefore, open to deconstruction and reconstruction; they are not absolute concepts with universal validity (Espés 2015). The different crises surrounding the concept of masculinity should not be interpreted as the disappearance of an identity but rather as the recognition of change and the need for reformulation (Aresti 2010).

In the case of Latin America, early studies on masculinities focused on two expressions of identities and gender relations that have prevailed in the region since the colonial period: machismo and marianismo. It is from the second half of the 1990s that the interests and questions surrounding the study of masculinities broadened, particularly those related to male identities, sexual and reproductive health, fatherhood, and young and adolescent men (Martínez and Carmona 2023). Some scholars have emphasized the need to distinguish between studies “from” and “about” Latin America. The latter often involve stereotypes rooted in colonial images and European concepts of modernity, leading to the emergence of categories such as “Latin American men” or “Latin American machismo” (Viveros and Guttman 2007).

The concept of masculinity emerged at the end of the 18th century and the beginning of the 19th, based on the duality of a harmonious body and a model spirit. The body of the modern man was modeled after the young Greek men rediscovered by Winckelmann, whose physiques were shaped by physical exercise and adorned with the attributes of youth: freshness, vigor, and proportion. As for the spirit, masculinity was closely linked to virility, with virilitas being etymologically connected to virtus, the set of qualities deemed inherent to the male condition (Rey 2002).

Masculinity in 20th-century Spain, as in the rest of Europe, was linked to images and values associated with war. Francoist discourse structured stereotyped models of “being a man” and “being a woman” in essentialist terms, establishing sexual difference on a national, Catholic religious foundation that justified male domination and female subordination as natural and unquestionable (Vicent 2006).

In the 1960s, as studied by Moreno-Seco (2021), the Catholic male ideal was redefined in a more egalitarian sense in some cases, while in others, it was reconsidered through the reaffirmation of a virile model with traditional undertones, seeking to restore the traditional gender order. The traditional “Iberian macho” was modernized, with James Bond as the new standard. This new man was a hybrid of bullfighter and secret agent: energetic, brave, daring, and, of course, seductive (Rey 2002). The incorporation of women into new workspaces, secularization, sexual liberation, and feminism contributed to blurring the boundaries between male and female identities.

The economic growth of the 1960s, foreign tourism, and the migration of populations from rural areas to cities accelerated changes in gender roles and sexual customs. Relocated to large cities or tourist destinations along the Mediterranean coast, men often experienced a shift in their outlook as they suddenly faced the new pleasures and anxieties of consumerism, including installment payments and mortgages.

This opening of Spain to tourism brought with it a reaffirmation of traditional models of masculinity, with the aim of curbing the impact that openness and modernization might have on “Spanish identity” (Nash 2018; Coll-Planas 2010). Controlling male sexuality became a matter of state importance, tied to national identity. Two stereotypes were promoted and disseminated: the figure of the married, working, urban man, popularly known as “Rodríguez”, and his counterpart, the Don Juan. Both served to reinforce the position of the father and patriarchal values. The “Rodríguez” was identified as a male head of a middle- or working-class family who enjoyed some sexual permissiveness while his family was on vacation (Sabuco I Cantò 2022). Conversely, the Don Juan stereotype represented single, womanizing, and seductive men, associated in popular imagination with the traits of Don Juan. These young working-class men viewed foreign women as their “prey” during the summer, while Spanish women were to be respected and tempered the masculine fervor, conceived as a biological attribute (Sabuco I Cantò 2022).

In the 1970s, social changes intensified, related to generational turnover, contact with the outside world, and the increasing presence of women in education, the workforce, and so on. Against this backdrop, and in response to the surge in homosexual expressions, the proliferation of prostitution and pornography, drug and alcohol consumption, youth vandalism, etc., parliamentary reform efforts were initiated, leading to the approval of the Ley de Peligrosidad y Rehabilitación Social (LPRS) (Law on Dangerousness and Social Rehabilitation) in 1970. This law, which upheld the principles of the 1933 Ley de Vagos y Maleantes (LVM) (Vagrancy and Beggars Law), targeted homosexuality and established reeducation centers for men, while offering no provisions for lesbian women, due to the significantly lower number of reported cases (Galán 2017). The “homosexual” (or the “invert”, terms used within the hegemonic language of the dictatorship and its reductionist logic, which in fact encompassed multiple and diverse experiences within the spectrum of gender and sexuality) was considered a social enemy. Francoist jurisprudence treated political criminality and social dangerousness differently, “including separatists, anarchists, communists, and other leftists in the former category, and those labeled as vagrants and beggars, prostitutes, and homosexuals in the latter”. The approval of this law in 1970 accelerated the organized fight for homosexual liberation in Spain, a movement that, from that same year onward, campaigned, among other things, for its repeal (Mora Gaspar 2019). With Franco’s death in 1975 came the years of the Destape, during which the primary objective was to display the naked bodies of beautiful women, alongside the first “trans” representations (Melero 2015), as seen in Vicente Aranda’s film Cambio de sexo, starring Bibiana Fernández. The model of eroticism promoted by el Destape represented both a break with the romantic order of national Catholicism and a displacement of the emancipatory proposals put forward by various feminist movements, countercultures, the gay liberation movements, and libertarian circles, all of which at the time advocated for a profound transformation of gender–sexual systems and the institutions of Francoism (including marriage, family, church, and the Ley de Peligrosidad Social Law on Dangerousness and Social Rehabilitation) (Labrador Méndez 2020). Regarding the origin and explanation of el Destape culture and pornography, some feminist groups saw the sexual repression endured by citizens during 40 years of dictatorship as the cause of these phenomena. The conception of sexuality as forbidden and sinful had led the population to seek other outlets, such as cinema and erotic magazines, especially pornography, as escape valves (Jareño 2016). Vindicación Feminista, one of the most important feminist magazines of the time, analyzed the Destape phenomenon and pornography in its pages, warning about the degrading image of women portrayed by numerous publications in the name of the longed-for sexual freedom after forty years of repression. It also criticized advertising as a conveyor of machismo and sexism, serving the burgeoning consumer society (Jareño 2016).

The 1980s marked a generational break with the Catholic and Francoist morality of previous generations. Homosexuality gradually gained visibility in various forms of representation, associated with consumerist prototypes of the “pink market”: body culture, saunas, and exclusive venues (Guasch and Mas 2014), seeking to establish its own cultural roots in Spain’s nascent democracy (Sabuco I Cantò 2022, p. 27). Normative men began to question their own identity. The 1980s and 1990s were marked internationally by significant cultural challenges to traditional representations of masculinity, with gender-ambiguous figures such as Dennis Rodman, RuPaul, Boy George, and David Bowie actively seeking public attention. In Latin America, films like Pixote and Kiss of the Spider Woman also served as platforms for public contestation of normative gender roles. Media like Cabaret (1972), The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975), Cruising (1980), My Beautiful Laundrette (1985), My Own Private Idaho (1991), and The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert (1994) were important. In Spain, singers like Miguel Bosé, celebrities like Bibiana Andersen, and films such as Un hombre llamado Flor de otoño (1978), which explored cross-dressing and freedom; Vestida de azul (1983), which focused on the experiences of transgender individuals in the country; and the works of Pedro Almodóvar expanded the portrayal of male roles. Furthermore, during this period, the interplay between objectivity and subjectivity became a fertile ground for creative contestation and innovation.

In fact, 1986 marked a turning point in advertising discourse, which reflected societal shifts with varying degrees of boldness. The Yacaré brand filled phone booths across the country with images of a naked man. A few months later, billboards featured the Abanderado and Ferrys models, all posing in underwear—positions previously reserved for lingerie models (Rey 2002). This represented a challenge to the “normative masculinity” that Mosse described, to which elements or traits of other subjects he called “intruders”—“non-men” (women, homosexuals, and trans people)—were added. Their demands and progress led to the gradual acceptance of these “intruders” and the development of more flexible and heterogeneous masculinities, contrasting with the monolithic and unquestionable form of masculinity (Mosse 2000).

This trend consolidated in the 1990s, when new forms of masculinity emerged, which might be termed alternative, emergent, or positive due to their non-sexist and non-homophobic characteristics, in more egalitarian societies. These models existed alongside the hegemonic masculinity model, characterized by the man as an economic provider and as virile, strong, and emotionally stoic (Boscán 2008).

Simultaneously, authors such as Lorente Acosta’s (2009) have discussed “postmachismo” to refer to masculine dynamics that, while no longer boasting male domination, still retain privileges and a degree of cultural authority in response to feminist and LGBT achievements. Following the patriarchal binary, particularly the whore/saint dichotomy, contemporary masculinity can be articulated through the opposition between soft/toxic masculinity (Lawson 2023). In contrast to a masculinity defined by affectivity, tolerance, and respect, the figure of the “toxic man” emerges, described as a “violent monster”, thus allowing the “new man” to define himself as kind and virtuous (Gómez Beltrán 2019).

From a media perspective, the transformations of masculinity also reflect a transmedia narrative. While it is true that by the late 1990s and early 2000s, influenced by metrosexual trends and the viral spread of feminist discourses, there was a growing presence of more groomed, delicate, and sensitive men on screen, it was not until the second decade of this century that we would witness a true shift in the way actors presented their bodies. This shift not only changed the bodily configuration in the (re)presentations of masculinities, but also the way influences now jump between different forms of media. With this new generation, we are witnessing a process of transmediality in which it is no longer possible to isolate representations of reality or television from cinema or social media. We encounter not only new bodies but also a new way of understanding, seeing, and consuming these corporealities, which embody various and contradictory discourses circulating in the last decade (Martínez-Saez 2022). The term “depornosexual” would come to replace the metrosexuals of the 1990s, defined by men whose muscularity was shaped by sports or pornography, and embodying values of hardness, corporeality, and domination, more closely associated with hegemonic masculinity. These bodies appear not only in cinema or advertising but also in television, social media, reality TV, and more. As Martínez-Sáez points out, these transmedia masculinities are essential for understanding the intersections between gender, precarity, the cultural products we consume, and the consequences of late capitalism.

Regarding the existence of men’s magazines, scholars have highlighted the difficulty of unifying criteria that would allow for the classification of a distinct genre. If we focus on the content, certain publications related to the erotica and explicit sexuality of women were considered “magazines for men”. Playboy, which was created in the United States in 1953, is a notable example that significantly marks the beginning of this type of male-oriented publication, categorized within the broader scope of “lifestyle magazines.” Lifestyle was associated with a range of general topics, including sex, food, technology, family life, religion, culture, politics, business activities, values, and sexual morality (Elmore 2004).

Playboy’s success was linked to a type of man who was independent of responsibilities regarding marriage and fatherhood: a liberated, consumer-driven, hedonistic man, the very archetype of the “playboy” (Elmore 2004). The British edition of GQ and Loaded, which was the precursor to Maxim, showcased two distinct models of masculinity. On one hand, GQ represented a more mature, sensitive “new man” embracing feminism, while Loaded presented a younger, more uncomfortable man who mocked this “new man” through satire (Benwell 2003). GQ, which had originally launched in 1931 under the name Apparel Arts, offered advice to men on how to dress well. Its popularity with male audiences led to it being published quarterly starting in 1957, alongside Esquire (1933) (Ganzábal-Learreta and Meso-Ayerdi 2021).

In Spain, by the end of 1976, there were a total of 50 different magazines that featured some form of erotica or pornography. Among the pornographic magazines were Emmanuel, Lui, Siesta, Extra, Penthouse, Playboy, Climas, and Party. Some, such as El Papus or Interviú, combined political journalism, sarcasm, and erotic content to satisfy two of the most prominent interests of the male population at the time: politics and women (Jareño 2016). The massive appearance of erotic and pornographic images, coupled with a liberalization of sexual mores, mirrored the developments that had occurred in the United States and Europe decades earlier. However, in the Spanish context, this phenomenon coincided with a period of political change, transitioning from dictatorship to democracy (ibid.).

The international editions of Penthouse and Playboy arrived in Spain in 1978. In 1984, Primera Línea, launched by the Zeta group, was followed by New Look a year later. Taking L’Uomo Vogue as a reference, one of the first international men’s publications, the Spanish women’s magazine Dunia launched Hombres Dunia in 1986, dedicated to men’s fashion with a quarterly publication schedule. That same year saw the emergence of other magazines aimed at men with diverse topics related to “lifestyle”, although these publications often lasted only a few months. In 1987, Man was launched, which quickly shifted toward erotic content to secure a young audience, maintaining its success until 2004, when FHM (For Him Magazine) emerged as its strong competitor (Ganzábal-Learreta and Meso-Ayerdi 2021).

Regarding magazines aimed at homosexual audiences, the so-called “beefcake” magazines existed in the U.S. since the 1930s and were introduced clandestinely in Spain. By the late 1970s, despite the Ley de Peligrosidad Social (Law on Dangerousness and Social Rehabilitation) remaining in force until 1995, the first magazine featuring openly homosexual content, Party, appeared in 1977, showcasing the first full male nudity on its cover. Later, Sanghay emerged as the leading magazine for the homosexual male audience, which has continued to this day (Ganzábal-Learreta and Meso-Ayerdi 2021).

The emergence of the “metrosexual” man and new male models led to the creation of new publications from the mid-1990s onward, offering diverse content of interest beyond the purely erotic. In this context, we find GQ (Gentlemen’s Quarterly 1994), Men’s Health (2001), Gentleman (2003), and Esquire (2007), all of which are linked to major publishing groups that have ensured their survival up to the present day.

So, the study of men’s press during Spain’s Transition period offers a window into the evolving cultural and social dynamics of the time. These publications, which emerged as platforms for discussing masculinity and its societal implications, provide a valuable framework for understanding broader gender and identity shifts. By exploring the overarching landscape of men’s press, the representation of gender roles, and the societal changes reflected in these magazines, this research aims to trace the interplay between media and the transformations of Spanish society.

• What is the landscape of men’s press in Spain during the Transition, and how has it evolved?
• How have been represented gender roles—?
• What social changes in Spain are reflected in the evolution of the magazines?

Specific Questions

To delve deeper into the nuances of men’s press, it is essential to focus on specific aspects that reveal the underlying social and cultural currents. These questions explore the portrayal of non-normative sexualities, the construction of the male body in lifestyle publications, and the strategic role of publishing companies in shaping this media sector. Together, these inquiries help illuminate how men’s press both mirrored and influenced the evolving discourse on identity and gender during this transformative period.

• How have homosexuality been represented in men’s magazines?
• How is the male body represented in fashion and lifestyle magazines?
• What role do publishing companies play in shaping men’s press and determining its success or failure?

The concept of a “new man” has been pivotal in rethinking masculinity in modern contexts, particularly during periods of cultural flux. This study hypothesizes that fashion and lifestyle magazines in Spain, from the Transition to the late 1990s, actively promoted a redefined masculinity analogous to the “new woman” discourse of the 20th century. This exploration seeks to uncover how these publications contributed to reshaping male identities within a rapidly changing society.

The hypothesis of this paper is as follows: Was the idea of a “new man” in Spain promoted through fashion and lifestyle magazines from the Transition until the late 1990s in the same way as the “new woman” was discussed during the 20th century?

2. Materials and Methods

This study uses as primary sources collections of men’s lifestyle magazines published in Spain after 1975, following the death of dictator Franco. Specifically, the paper examines Interviú (1976–2018), Lui (1976–ca. 1981), El País Semanal (1976–), Hombres Dunia (1986–1991), Elle para ellos (1986–1990), MAN (1987–2012), Vogue Hombres (1988–1992), GQ (1994–), and Zero (1998–2004). This period is defined by the end of the dictatorship and the emergence of Spain’s first gay publication, Zero (1998). Women’s magazines from this period were also reviewed for contrast, as some men’s titles were the male counterpart of women’s magazines (Dunia, Vogue, and Elle). Additionally, general press sources from the period were reviewed to locate news articles, features, interviews, and other materials that could provide further context on these magazines.

This study is based on a methodological approach that combines content analysis and qualitative methods to examine both textual and visual representations in men’s magazines. This approach allows for the exploration of both explicit and implicit messages related to the constructions of masculinity, providing a comprehensive perspective that encompasses the discursive and esthetic dimensions of these publications. The methodology is supported by key theoretical contributions from gender studies, communication, and cultural criticism.

Content analysis forms the core of the methodology, providing a systematic framework for identifying and categorizing recurring patterns in texts and images. This approach follows the classical guidelines established by Krippendorff (2018), who emphasizes the importance of systematic and replicable analysis to study media messages. In this case, a coding matrix was designed that included thematic categories such as gender roles, the representation of male corporeality, consumption narratives, and dynamics of power and sexuality. These categories were defined through an exhaustive literature review, including contributions from Connell (1995) on hegemonic masculinities and their relationship to media culture, and Gill (2003), who analyzes the construction of gender identity in the media.

The analysis of images was conducted using qualitative methods focused on visual semiotics, drawing on Barthes’s (1977) concepts of reading visual signs and their meanings. This approach allowed for the interpretation of the symbolic meanings and cultural codes present in photographs, illustrations, and graphic elements. Particular attention was given to aspects such as posture, clothing, facial expression, and settings, which reveal how visual representations of idealized masculinity are constructed in relation to consumption, esthetics, and power. Additionally, ideas on visual grammar were taken into account to analyze how images organize meaning within the editorial context of magazines (Kress and van Leeuwen 2006).

Qualitative textual analysis was conducted using tools from Critical Discourse Analysis (CDA), following the traditions of Fairclough’s (1992) and Van Dijk’s (1993). This approach enabled the examination of how magazines use language to shape male identities and negotiate societal expectations surrounding gender roles. Specifically, the narrative tones, lexical choices, and implicit ideological positions in articles, interviews, and editorial sections were explored.

To ensure the validity and reliability of the findings, the triangulation of the data obtained from various sources and methods was carried out. Triangulation is framed within Flick’s (2004) proposals, which highlight the importance of combining perspectives to enrich qualitative analysis. Furthermore, a comparative analysis of magazines from different periods and editorial approaches was conducted, allowing for the identification of continuities and ruptures in gender representations over time.

The analysis process was complemented by a bibliographic review of masculinity theories, such as Kimmel’s (2005) exploration of the historical dynamics of masculinities and Morin’s (1978) examination of the role of cinema and media in the construction of male identities. Additionally, Gill’s (2007) contributions on the intersection of media representation and neoliberalism were incorporated, as they are relevant for contextualizing contemporary discourses in magazines aimed at men.

In summary, this mixed methodology combines the systematic nature of content analysis with the interpretative depth of qualitative methods, offering a robust and multidimensional perspective on the representation of masculinities in men’s magazines. By grounding the analysis in solid theoretical contributions, the study ensures a rigorous and critical approach that enriches the understanding of these media representations.

3. Results

The concept of the modern man (as opposed to the “man of the past”) is a key topic in men’s lifestyle media. However, it remains a vague and ambiguous term. Modernity is indeterminate. Just as the term “today” refers to a specific day, while at the same time any date could be labeled as “today”, modernity functions similarly: it refers to what is new, to the recent era, and distances itself from what is old, classical, or established. Everything has the potential to be considered modern, and thus, no particular era can monopolize modernity, nor can specific individuals. However, defining what is “new” and “recent” versus what is “old” and “classical” depends on the context in which these terms are used. In Spain, a historical moment of change, characterized by novelty and a desire to break away from the established order, is known as the Destape.

The Destape represents, in many ways, the end of the cultural censorship that society had become accustomed to during the dictatorship cultural censorship. As a result, there was an informational Destape that brought discussions of social issues to the forefront, including women in debates on topics such as abortion, social equality, contraception, work, and education. Simultaneously, the Destape also refers to the end of censorship on sexual content in cultural products, leading to an exponential increase in the depiction of nudity—primarily female—in the media.

The Destape permeated cultural production from the beginning of Spain’s political Transition in the mid-1970s, leading to numerous analyses of this phenomenon within Spanish society. In this discussion, and in order to establish a link with the concept of modernity, we will focus on an informational Destape, as fashion and lifestyle magazines serve as a key resource for understanding what, in the context of the Destape, defined modern men and women.

It is important to note the binary and heteropatriarchal framework of this analysis, as the material itself largely overlooks any gender or sexual diversity: during the final quarter of the 20th century, fashion and lifestyle magazines were directed toward a consumer subject—a target audience—either male or female, through consumer objects—the magazine’s content—also designated as male or female. Moreover, in this constructed relationship between subjects and consumer objects, heterosexuality is presumed—erroneously—until the launch of the magazine Zero in the late 1990s.

Magazines aimed at a male audience are particularly interesting to examine, as they, while including major sections on fashion and lifestyle, navigate between both meanings of the Destape, revealing peculiarities in consumption dynamics during this period. Women’s magazines, on the other hand, under the labels of fashion and lifestyle, focused almost exclusively on the informational aspect of the Destape, largely ignoring the erotic. Although there were magazines that centered on male nudity as their consumer object, targeting heterosexual women as the consumer subject, such as Playgirl, it quickly became evident that the majority of the readership was male and homosexual (Price and Dalecki 1998). This fact, among others, reinforces the erroneous presumption of heterosexuality in the relationship between subjects and consumer objects in these magazines.

In 1976, two magazines targeting a male audience began their run: Lui (1976–1981?) and El País Semanal (1976–present), whose trajectories are almost complementary, despite both focusing on fashion and lifestyle.

In the case of Lui, there was a clear tendency toward eroticism, as it was, after all, the Spanish edition of a French erotic magazine for men. Its early issues maintained a more elegant and discreet tone, such as the cover of the first issue, which featured Sylvie Winter riding a bicycle alongside another woman. However, the magazine soon adopted a more provocative esthetic, with nudity becoming more prominent on its covers. An emblematic example of this shift is the cover of the first anniversary issue, featuring a nude illustration of the famous actress Romy Schneider, marking the magazine’s transition toward more daring and suggestive content, in contrast to its more restrained beginnings.

Like Interviú, Lui revolved around both a female bodily Destape and a cultural one. Its pages combined more or less explicit nudity with in-depth reports on current political and social issues, interviews with prominent figures, and cultural and trend pieces aimed at instructing the “modern man”, as the magazine later described on its cover. However, the magazine’s evolution can be seen in the change in its subtitle, from “the international magazine for the modern man” to “Much more than an erotic magazine”. Despite featuring men’s fashion articles from the outset, it is difficult to argue that the primary motivation of its readers was not the sensual enjoyment of female nudity.

As El País correspondent Octavio Martí noted in his article on the closure of Lui in 1994, “its reputation as an erotic magazine would eventually work against it”. This is precisely what happened thirteen years earlier in Spain’s market for Destape content. Lui was unable to compete with magazines such as Lib, which introduced personal ads, as well as Macho, Pen, Clímax, and Bazaar, which not only featured nude women, often portrayed in a rather vulgar style, but also covered topics related to sex, sexual freedom, and personal liberties. Lui, akin to the Spanish version of Playboy, presented more esthetically refined covers, benefiting from the backing and editorial experience of its international parent edition, but its “tasteful” nudity could not compete with pornography. Once democracy was firmly established and the freedoms of the 1980s deepened, eroticism found no market.

This reflects not only a shift in the dynamics of cultural consumption but also the co-optation of Destape by more explicit pornography, which supplanted the more refined erotic esthetic, as evidenced by the survival of certain magazines over others. Although titles such as Lui and Interviú attempted to integrate bodily exposure within a framework of culture and lifestyle, they ultimately reinforced the view of women as sexual objects for male pleasure—a concept embedded in what Mulvey (2001) termed the “male gaze”. As Mulvey explains, looking involves a relationship between activity—the one who looks—and passivity—the one who is looked at. In these magazines, women are constituted as the passive element, while men take on an active role as the bearer of the gaze, responsible for “structuring the spectator’s viewing relationship” because the male figure serves as “the ideal ego in the identification process” (Rosón Villena 2017).

The co-optation of Destape—in its more liberating sense—into the sexualization of women occurred because, while some women may have enjoyed eroticism, this pleasure was mediated by an industry that primarily positioned them as objects rather than subjects of desire. Thus, the liberation of the female body also entailed its commercialization and, consequently, its subjugation to the market and its rules of supply and demand. Female agency was accompanied by new forms of oppression, concealed under the guise of freedom (Peña Ardid 2015).

It is this more pornographic trend that led to the disappearance of magazines like Lui in less than a decade; the last issues accessible to us date from 1981, suggesting that this may have been its final year of publication. Martí further notes, regarding the French edition, that “In 1988, in response to the rise in hardcore pornography publications sold at newsstands, Lui attempted to separate its text from its photos, offering the latter in a separate booklet. However, this proved ineffective, just as it was futile to have the women appear clothed or have the photographs signed by well-known names” (El País, 01/24/1994).

El País Semanal followed a trajectory that was practically the opposite. As the Sunday supplement of El País, the most emblematic newspaper of the Spanish Transition period, it was aligned with left-wing and progressive ideals and was highly influential in the 1970s and 1980s. While Lui leaned towards bodily Destape, El País Semanal exemplified an informational Destape, offering reports on society, style, history, humor, opinion, and more, with a sustained focus on feminism. This was evident from its very first issue, which included a feature on Spanish women traveling to London to obtain abortions, as it was not possible to do so safely within Spain. This marked the beginning of a thematic line that continues to this day, with some changes, but largely maintaining the original mission of the publication.

The inclusion of this supplement in the analysis is significant because, although its issues predominantly focused on women’s fashion, the magazine from its inception was also interested in promoting male style and fashion, with the goal of modernizing Spanish society, including in terms of esthetics. In this way, El País Semanal provided its readers with cultural, social, and lifestyle information through engaging, accessible content, detached from the more serious tone of the newspaper, while maintaining a high standard of quality. Its success in comparison to other men’s lifestyle magazines may not only be attributed to its more comprehensive and serious treatment of fashion, but also to the variety of topics covered in its pages, which broadened its target audience. Added to this was the advantage of being a supplement to the country’s largest general-interest newspaper (EGM).

In the 1980s, men’s magazines focused on fashion and lifestyle continued to follow the two Destape trends established in the previous decade: either they aimed to teach Spanish men about modernity, style, and fashion through reports on current affairs, culture, and lifestyle, or they focused on the erotic appeal of the female body, as was the case with the magazine MAN.

MAN: El hombre que viene (The coming man”) was a men’s magazine published between November 1987 and July 2012, producing nearly three hundred issues. Although it was, like most women’s magazines, a lifestyle publication that featured a range of topics and interviews with national and international cultural figures, its distinctive feature—similar to other men’s magazines—was its covers featuring women in sensual poses, although they were not completely nude or topless, as seen in Interviú. Editorials inside the magazine continued this theme with lightly dressed or nude photo spreads.

Initially, men appeared on the covers of the early issues—as observed in its first issue, from November 1987, in which a close-up shot of Don Johnson smiling naturally welcomes to the magazine—as the magazine aimed to be a contemporary magazine for the modern man, informing him about various aspects of his life, including fashion, reporting not only on trends in men’s fashion but also offering style advice. However, within its first year, MAN had solidified its identity as a magazine predominantly driven by eroticism on the cover and inside, though it maintained its lifestyle content, including fashion coverage, until its final issue.

The level of eroticism fluctuated over time, peaking in the 1990s with covers such as that of January 1991, featuring a young Penélope Cruz. The headline highlighted that she had just turned sixteen, accompanied by a photograph of the actress wearing a low-cut neckline. This shift partly ensured the magazine’s longevity. While Lui quickly faced its expiration due to its inability to compete with more explicit imagery in other media, MAN’s 1990s covers must be understood within a particular context—one marked by competition with television, especially following the arrival of private TV networks in 1990, which expanded leisure options and directly competed with print media and illustrated magazines.

With the turn of the century, the tone of the magazine changed once again, likely in response to the competition posed by easily accessible internet pornography. MAN returned to featuring sensual photoshoots with contemporary women but adopted a lighter, more sophisticated, and modern tone, as seen in the final issue, which showcased Najwa Nimri in a defiant pose wearing an open jacket that revealed the actress’s torso, yet without exposing any particularly intimate areas. This conveyed a sense of sophistication, fashion, and sensuality simultaneously. The reasons for the magazine’s closure in 2012 are varied, likely a combination of the declining profitability and future of print media, competition from the internet and social networks for lifestyle information and erotic content, and the economic crisis, which affected advertisers and revenue.

On the opposite end of men’s fashion magazines—those focusing on lifestyle and informational Destape rather than eroticism—the 1980s saw a proliferation of men’s editions of women’s magazines, such as Dunia, Elle, and Vogue.

Dunia was a magazine launched in 1976 as a publication aimed at the modern Spanish woman, distinct from international offerings like Cosmopolitan and Marie Claire, which were more committed to feminism, politics, sexual freedom, professional success, and personal fulfillment. Women raised under Franco’s regime, however, identified more with the Dunia woman—modern but not revolutionary—allowing the magazine to carve out a space among more conservative titles. However, it could not compete with the success of Elle, Vogue, and Cosmopolitan, nor could it unseat Telva, although it lasted longer than more traditional magazines like El hogar y la moda or Ama. The growing competition from celebrity gossip magazines, fueled by television, led Dunia to transform into a celebrity magazine, abandoning its fashion focus. Despite this shift, it was unable to survive in the market and ceased publication in 1998.

Perhaps even more interesting was the launch in 1986 of Hombres Dunia, which lasted until 1991. It sought to be a lifestyle and trend magazine for the modern man, appealing to young men without role models from the past and to older men raised under Francoism who found themselves in a new world they wished to navigate, looking to the future with freedom. The covers of this publication displayed a more artistic and cultural character, as seen in issue number 5 from 1988, which featured Pablo Picasso’s Harlequin (Léonide Massine) from 1917, alongside the phrase “how to make yourself unmistakable”.

Journalist and essayist Vicente Verdú, known for his interest in social change, style, and its cultural significance, wrote in the first issue of Hombres Dunia that the era of men’s magazines had arrived, much like women’s fashion magazines. Women were no longer the same as before, no longer monopolizing spaces dedicated solely to fashion and luxury. This made it necessary to create publications like Hombres Dunia to teach Spanish men about modernity and style. With a touch of cynicism and irony, the magazine also sought to promote equality between men and women, challenging traditional perceptions of femininity as synonymous with beauty and masculinity as rough and professional, detached from anything frivolous or considered feminine. The magazine dedicated substantial space to trends, alongside reports on topics of male interest, such as automobiles and business.

However, it only survived five years, likely due to competition with erotic men’s magazines, but also because of the emergence of men’s magazines that were less focused on fashion and did not carry, in the eyes of the consumer, the disadvantage of being linked to a women’s title. Indeed, Verdú argued that it was time for men to “feminize” themselves or risk being seen as effeminate, though he meant this in a sense of equality rather than as a pejorative. Nevertheless, this connotation likely deterred readers. Additionally, competition arose from lifestyle magazines for men, some of which came from international titles, such as Elle and Vogue for men.

These titles, first published the same year as their respective parent editions, focused on men’s fashion trends for those seeking to be modern, combining this content with current affairs, culture, or lifestyle reports. Vogue Hombres, in particular, sought to distance itself from the typical over-the-top editorials of the women’s magazine by aiming for a modern style, featuring primarily artists dressed fashionably but without extravagance and gazing directly at the camera, as shown in the covers featuring Van Damme (June 1992), Mel Gibson (October 1992), and Antonio Banderas (November 1992).

Both magazines had similar lifespans and reasons for discontinuation: Elle para ellos was published from 1986 to 1990 and Vogue Hombres from 1988 to 1992. They faced competition from erotic magazines, the lack of a robust fashion culture among Spanish men, the rise in other men’s magazines with a more defined profile, as well as the economic crisis of the 1990s in the case of Vogue Hombres.

Of particular interest is the relationship between men and women as subjects or objects of consumption—active or passive role, in terms of Mulvey (2001)—in these magazines, especially regarding the roles they play in the different versions of the same titles. In the first issue of Hombres Dunia, Vicente Verdú referred to the arrival of the “male object” as follows: “The subject, freely, is disappearing, and this is an event from which it is worth benefiting. To be a subject one’s entire life, especially if one has had the experience of being a man, is a burden. The very etymology of the word subject, being beneath, implies the weight one has had to carry. […] In the world of men and women, where one is the subject and the other the object, it was the former’s task to persuade and the latter’s to seduce. There is no denying the troublesome asymmetry this has entailed. […] The postmodern proposition is to make both subjects and objects of men, women, sardines, and horses alike […]”.

Despite Verdú’s apparent attempt to suggest a form of equality in his words—treating the man’s condition as a “subject” as a disadvantage rather than acknowledging it as a privilege compared to the woman’s constant objectification—his perspective offers an interesting view by juxtaposing the roles of subject and object within the context of magazines and their editorial content.

When the consumer subject, the target audience of a magazine, is male, the most reliable object of consumption to ensure the magazine’s survival is the woman, from an erotic, if not pornographic, perspective. This, rather than serving as a tool of empowerment, often ended up replicating the same dynamics of subordination and objectification as before, but now under the pretext of the sexual and democratic freedoms of the 1980s. Once again, liberation becomes liberalization, and the supposed agency is accompanied by new forms of oppression (for women) (Peña Ardid 2015).

In contrast, content on men’s fashion and lifestyle was not as popular among male audiences, as revealed by the short lifespans of magazines like Hombres Dunia, Elle para Ellos, and Vogue Hombres. This trend is also evident in erotic magazines that dedicated part of their pages to lifestyle features, only for such content to be overshadowed by images of female nudity.

On the other hand, when the consumer subject is female, erotic content is almost nonexistent, as previously mentioned, and the object of consumption is predominantly female as well. Fashion, current events, and lifestyle topics are largely driven by famous women, models, or influential female figures. Although some male figures were gradually introduced into these features, they were often presented through the lens of a female figure, sometimes in the context of a romantic relationship.

This pattern is particularly evident in the covers of Elle and Vogue, magazines that specialize in fashion and rarely feature male protagonists. In Elle, reports and covers with male figures often reflected a promotion of romantic culture and the myth of love, showcasing real or fictional couples, more or less influential, serving as a draw through mere romantic interest—a common theme in women’s magazines. An example is a recent Elle cover showing Jean Paul Gaultier embracing Aitana Sánchez Gijón, despite no personal connection between them.

In Vogue, this becomes even clearer, as no man appeared on its cover—excluding supplements—until February 1999, when Esther Cañadas and Mark VanderLoo were featured together. This couple, popular after their Donna Karan ads in New York where portrayed the man and woman of the new millennium, was accompanied by headlines emphasizing love as the essential element. They were presented as the ideal couple, while the magazine promoted a selection of lingerie “to seduce”, overlooking both their significant modeling careers and the physical appeal the duo might hold for the magazine’s female readers. Similar cases followed with men appearing on the cover alongside women: Prince appeared with his wife Mayte García, showing their home in 1999, and in 2005, footballer Ronaldo appeared with Daniela Ospina.

There are also instances where male figures become the sole draw of the magazine as objects of consumption: their professional careers and physical appearance—though not explicitly sexualized—take center stage. However, these men often required the presence of women posing alongside them, reaffirming the female role as an object and justifying the male presence in the traditionally female domain of these magazines. While Elle attempted in the 2000s to break from this reductive view of women as objects whose primary function was to justify male presence, this practice persists in more recent Vogue covers, such as the 2011 issue featuring actor Clive Owen with model Toni Garrn, or the August 2016 cover where model Lucky Blue Smith posed with two female models in a conventional photoshoot.

In recent years, Elle and other women’s magazines have broadened the concept of femininity with campaigns featuring “real women” and their lives beyond their bodies and sexuality, which have historically been presented as more valuable commodities than talent, intelligence, or success. However, the differentiated treatment of men and women as objects of consumption, both in men’s and women’s magazines, again reveals a clear tendency to maintain women in the role of the object and men in that of the subject.

Nevertheless, the evolution of magazine consumption reveals a new trend in the 1990s: fashion and lifestyle content began to gain relevance among male audiences with the emergence of magazines like GQ and Zero, titles that reflect a clear social change in the conception of masculinity and the modern man. This shift emphasizes the notion of exposure as cultural and informative freedom, as well as gender expression.

GQ is an American men’s magazine founded in 1957, focusing on fashion and linked to Esquire, from which it became a competitor in 1983 when it was acquired by Condé Nast, under the leadership of Art Cooper, and shifted towards men’s lifestyle. It arrived in Spain a decade later, in 1994, with the aim of educating and, more specifically, teaching Spanish men how to be modern—a goal that closely resembled that of women’s magazines throughout history, though with different focal points and specificities. As it drew inspiration from women’s magazines, it also looked to its American predecessor, inheriting its formula and format but adapting the content to suit the Spanish audience of this new publication.

Mara Malibrant, the only woman to serve as editor of the publication, stated in an interview that “Spanish men need to be taught, indoctrinated in certain areas such as fashion. I am saddened by the way Spanish men dress, always in gray or blue. […] This is why we are going to offer a very didactic and informative fashion, full of ideas, and very realistic, without any avant-garde airs” (El País, 1994).

These words reflect the stereotype of masculinity that prevailed in Spain during the 1990s and shaped the magazine’s goal: to reverse this stereotype by modernizing it and pulling men out of a longstanding esthetic and self-care backwardness. However, despite its aim to encompass all types of men, there was an explicit intention not to target a gay audience. The treatment of esthetics and self-care from a heterosexual masculine perspective gained prominence through the term “metrosexual”, a profile internationally associated with GQ magazine, which’s most prominent icon is David Beckham. Beckham embodied a combination of interests previously seen as nearly incompatible, such as fashion, luxury, sports, and women.

Esparza (2004, p. 29) emphasizes that “the modern man has begun to pay attention to issues traditionally considered feminine; he cares more about fashion, food, and glamor, and, perhaps most importantly, he does not mind if it is known.” Thus, metrosexuality is presented as a social reality, first as a result of the revolution driven by women, but also as an advertising phenomenon, since it emerges from the observation and analysis by companies that manage to make it mainstream through advertising (Rey 2006).

Metrosexuality not only leads the heterosexual man to consume more through advertising, but also to follow consumption dynamics more similar to the women. Advertising, in directing this consumption, also commodifies the target audience and turns them into an aspirational product, for what is being sold is not a set of products, but a personified social status that is attained through the consumption of goods (Martínez and Sánchez 2012).

This late-century heterosexual young man, aged between 25 and 34, culturally educated, of upper-middle class, professional, and independent from women, was the audience to be “indoctrinated” on fashion, leisure, and current events through articles and features on sex, health, sports, beauty, fitness, male cosmetics, automobiles, and traditional male concerns like impotence, baldness, and infidelity.

The magazine’s debut issue, featuring Harrison Ford without pants but not in a sexualized pose, in a bathroom that could be his own, conveyed a sense of intimacy and camaraderie with the reader. This issue confirmed all these themes. Fashion information, similar to that found in women’s magazines, was prominently featured, advising on what to wear that winter, with phrases typical of women’s publications. There were also investigative reports on the press, a feature on soccer, an article titled “What the Hell Do Women Want in Bed?”—hinting at a desperation similar to that of women in emotional matters but in the sexual sphere, further affirming the heterosexuality of its readers. Other sections included a piece on hotels by Arturo Pérez Reverte, and a ribbon in the lower corner advertised tips for gaining muscle and getting in shape.

The content of this inaugural issue continued to evolve over the publication’s 25-year history, though changes were shaped by the different editorial perspectives of its directors. Its pages reflect the social transformation of the concept of masculinity at the end of the century, incorporating practices traditionally associated with femininity, although still from a heteronormative and exclusionary perspective towards other gender expressions. Furthermore, this selective adoption of “feminized” aspects could only occur within power structures legitimized by patriarchy, where it was determined which of these aspects were tolerable within masculinity and which would be relegated to the “homosexual otherness”. Despite the social changes regarding gender identities in the 1990s, the intersection of misogyny and homophobia remained deeply ingrained in the magazines of the era.

In 1998, however, fashion and lifestyle magazines took another step towards diversity—more in terms of sexual than gender diversity—with the launch of Zero magazine. This magazine, primarily aimed at a gay male audience, broke away from the traditional framework of men’s magazines and became an important platform for the normalization of the gay community and for activism. Under a carefully crafted “camp” or “kitsch” esthetic, closely linked to the culture of the gay community, Zero integrated a wide range of topics such as fashion, culture, and the advocacy of rights into its structure. Though variable, its structure included fixed sections: opinion columns, one usually written by Eduardo Mendicutti, travel, a health and beauty section, current events, and reports and interviews on various topics, concluding with a few pages titled “From Zero to 100”, dedicated to culture. It also included supplements such as ZDM (Zero de Moda), which appeared in 2004, Cuídate (health and beauty), Decora (design and decoration), and Destino (tourism and travel), all of which were addressed from a gay perspective.

Zero featured controversial covers and reports in which various public figures came out, whether they were celebrities or ordinary people whose professions did not fit the usual stereotypes and could have been censured—though the magazine never managed to penetrate two particularly macho worlds: soccer, which it almost achieved, and bullfighting. Its approach towards the LGBT+ community is evident from start to finish: its first cover, from 1998, featured a close-up of singer Miguel Bosé looking directly at the camera, wearing a turtleneck sweater that covered him up to his nose in an intriguing photographic composition; the last cover, from 2009, shows young actor Eduardo Casanova, with dark eyeshadow, smoking a pink cigarette while intensely gazing at the camera in a tilted close-up.

Noteworthy among these reports were those featuring José Mantero, a Catholic priest; José María Sánchez Silva, a military officer; Joan Miquel Perpinyà, a Guardia Civil officer; National Court judge Fernando Grande-Marlaska; and artists like Nacho Duato, Jesús Vázquez, and Alejandro Amenábar. It also included interviews with public figures who supported the LGTBI community, such as José Luis Rodríguez Zapatero, who legalized same-sex marriage during his term as Prime Minister, Gaspar Llamazares, Pasqual Maragall, Alberto Ruiz-Gallardón, Pedro Zerolo, and Carla Antonelli, as well as professionals like Javier Bardem, Loles León, Raphael, Cayetana Guillén Cuervo, Boris Izaguirre, Alaska and Nacho Canut, Pedro Marín, and Iñaki Gabilondo.

However, the magazine did not survive the financial problems that the publishing company faced in the summer of 2009, and it declared bankruptcy on 6 November 2009, publishing a final issue, number 120, as a farewell to honor its advertising commitments. In this farewell, Zero’s director, Miguel Ángel López, reflected on the magazine’s beginnings, which had become a key voice for the “silenced” homosexual cause in Spain: “Eleven years ago, a group of unemployed friends decided to create a journalistic and creative medium with the social purpose of generating public opinion […] and a commitment to LGTB visibility—lesbians, gays, transgender, and bisexuals” (20 Minutos 2009).

While the presence of GQ reflected social changes that challenged traditional conceptions of masculinity, Zero is an even more striking example, as it defied gender and sexuality norms from a position historically relegated to otherness. Fundamentally a lifestyle publication, but from a standpoint of activism, visibility, and the normalization of LGTB issues, Zero became an iconic part of the history of journalism in Spain, albeit focused on gay men. As can be seen from the personalities featured in its issues, Zero still reproduced, to some extent, the privileged position of men—and class—from which certain traditionally feminine practices were deemed acceptable for the modern man’s lifestyle. And although this does not diminish the magazine’s social importance in the fight for LGTBI+ rights, it reflects the persistence of cis-gay hegemony within the community itself.

4. Discussion and Conclusions

The evolution of men’s fashion and lifestyle magazines since the 1970s allows for a reconstruction of the figure known as the “modern man” during Spain’s Transition period and the era of el Destape—a man who experienced the social and political changes at the end of the dictatorship and sought to catch up culturally with the rest of the world (Aresti 2020; Gómez Beltrán 2019).

Although the primary focus is on men’s magazines, it is also worth briefly considering women’s magazines, as comparing their content reveals the gender roles that define them. This comparison highlights the imbalanced relationships between men and women as both subjects and objects of consumption (Rey 2002).

Firstly, both men and women are consumers, but the presence of women as objects of consumption for both genders—whether through sexualization for the male audience or lifestyle guidance for the female audience—is far greater than that of men. Even when women are not the main attraction and serve merely as a pretext to discuss a man’s life, with the man being the object for female consumers, the woman still assumes the role of object. Behind this phenomenon lies the dominance of male interests, which, as can be deduced, are not limited to publications explicitly targeting the male gaze. These interests also permeate women’s magazines by emphasizing women’s esthetics and positioning as desirable what is sexually appealing to men, regardless of whether the magazine is focused on fashion. In this sense, accessories, elegance, or style are merely tools guiding us towards the male gaze—a constant gaze hidden behind advice on fashion, lifestyle, beauty, fitness, work, family, and any other topic that can be commodified as a female interest (

Table 1. Relationship between male and female subjects and objects in 1970s and 1980s fashion and lifestyle magazines. Own elaboration.

	Male Subject	Female Subject
Male Object	Minimal presence Only in lifestyle topics	Minimal presence Only in lifestyle topics
Female Object	Significant presence Only in erotic contexts	Significant presence Only in erotic contexts

).

Table 1 illustrates the imbalance in the relationship between men and women in the roles of subject/active and object/passive in the magazines of the studied period. First, men, as consumers, are primarily represented in men’s magazines in relation to lifestyle topics, while their presence as objects of consumption is very limited. Women are also presented as consumers, but, as previously noted, they are filtered through the male gaze, as defined by Mulvey (2001), even in their exclusive focus on lifestyle and fashion. Thus, even in their spaces of activity and agency, women are not exempt from occupying the position of object and ceding the role of subject to men. On the other hand, the male figure is rarely treated as an object of consumption, and when it is, it is confined to aspects of lifestyle, which contrasts with the overwhelming presence of the female object both in magazines for men—where she primarily appears from an erotic perspective—and in magazines for women—where her role is highlighted in relation to lifestyle, once again adhering to the conventions of the male gaze.

The concept of the male gaze, domination, and the consumption of images of women is ambiguous. On one hand, this is a mechanism that perpetuates male power and reinforces traditional structures of gender inequality. On the other, the analysis suggests that erotic imagery alone was insufficient to sustain the success of magazines like Lui. This duality complicates the narrative of a static male gaze, but it seems to also be a constant and unchanging way of representing topics such as modernity, masculinity, or femininity. The paradoxes of the evolving dynamics and contestations that surround gender representation in media are very complex.

The objectification of men in the magazines could be characterized as a privilege in contrast to the perpetual objectification experienced by women. However, men’s magazines served to instruct and modernize male readers which introduces a layer of pedagogical intent, positioning the male reader as both a consumer and a student of emerging masculinities. This dual role reflects a broader tension: while the male gaze retains elements of domination, it also opens pathways for the reshaping of gender norms and the negotiation of power. Additionally, the magazines functioned, also, as sites of creative contestation. They not only reinforced traditional notions of masculinity but also participated in redefining them. By blending consumer culture with a prescriptive vision of modern masculinity, these publications facilitated shifts in the male gaze—allowing for moments of reflection, adaptation, and even subversion (at least some, for the vast majority of the magazines). This interplay between gaze, domination, and modernization reveals the fluidity of gender representation in response to changing cultural and economic forces.

In conclusion, the success of 21st-century magazines that actively objectify men challenges the notion of the male gaze as the exclusive framework for understanding power dynamics in media representations. This shift suggests a more complex and multifaceted interplay of power, where men are increasingly positioned both as subjects and objects within consumer culture.

The presence of certain themes in magazines can be linked to their popularity or, in other words, to the consumer demand that allows and determines their survival over time. In contrast to magazines focused exclusively on male lifestyle—such as Hombres Dunia, Elle para ellos, and Vogue Hombres, which had a brief lifespan—other publications like MAN, which were much more centered on erotic content, survived for 25 years. Of course, the success or failure of these magazines also depends on various factors, as exemplified by Lui, whose uncertain positioning between erotica and refined esthetics caused it to fall behind more explicit titles or those with a better defined style. Another example is El País Semanal, which, while entirely removed from eroticism, secured its success in fashion and lifestyle content thanks to its broad readership and affiliation with a major general newspaper.

The presence of men as objects of consumption in fashion and lifestyle magazines has gradually increased over time. This is evidenced by the success of GQ and the undeniable impact of Zero—even with its selective and privileged distance from femininity (Mosse 2000; Trujano and Vázquez 2021). Additionally, this shift is reflected in the evolution of magazines like Elle, Vogue, and Cosmopolitan, where women are the primary subjects of consumption. In these publications, interviews with male figures not only increased, but they also began incorporating topics traditionally associated with women’s media and interests, such as fashion, relationships with women, and family life. These topics are often criticized when raised only in interviews with female politicians and professionals, as they are unrelated to their professional work and were not, at least historically, asked of men.

The changes documented in these magazines illustrate how society was adopting new dimensions of modernity. While some aspects of gender roles were becoming more flexible—by integrating practices traditionally associated with femininity into male identity—they also demonstrate how the market exploits all consumer niches, in this case, by creating new opportunities for production and consumption within the male target audience. Thus, lifestyle magazines have played a fundamental role in market dynamics, not only as consumer goods themselves but also by influencing the type of consumption in industries related to leisure, self-care, food, and, of course, fashion.

Moreover, the social changes in modern men’s practices and consumption are reflected in the rise in numerous men’s lifestyle magazines during the first two decades of the 21st century. These magazines, aimed at a male audience—men as both the subject and object of consumption—include Fuera de Serie (1999–), Gentleman (2003–), Esquire (2008–), Código Único (2011–), ICON (2013–), Marca Estilo (2014–), EGO (2015–2018), Dapper (2016–), and Port Magazine (2016–). Not only are there many titles, but all except one continue to be published today, with lifespans ranging from eight to twenty-five years.

However, comparing the format of these magazines with those from the Destape era requires a deeper analysis of the dynamics that these publications have adopted from more recent forms of capitalism, particularly those shaped by social media. In the current context, themes like “fashion”, “lifestyle”, and “culture” appear in the form of hashtags or social media profile bios, not so much to attract audiences with content, but rather to strategically position them in the vast algorithmic landscape of the internet.

In any case, the shift from Destape at the end of the 80s and 90s marked a significant change in the representation of the modern man in fashion and lifestyle magazines. The male image shifted from being centered solely on sexual liberation to encompassing more sophisticated consumer topics such as fashion, well-being, and fitness. This change reflected the expansion of the commercialization of male identity, as it was introduced as an object of consumption for itself and, consequently, as a subject of self-consumption, embodying a lifestyle that was presented to him in printed format.

In recent years, the representation of masculinity in media has evolved significantly, with a growing body of research examining how digital platforms, such as social media, contribute to shaping and reinforcing gender norms. These developments are crucial for understanding the current landscape of masculinity in media. While traditional portrayals of masculinity have often been linked to stereotypes of strength, dominance, and stoicism, digital media has introduced more nuanced and diverse expressions of masculinity. Recent studies highlight the ongoing tension between traditional and contemporary representations of masculinity. Despite a greater awareness of gender dynamics, the media still plays a significant role in reinforcing certain masculine ideals that contribute to sexism and harassment.

The role of digital platforms in shaping masculine identities has been the focus of recent scholarship (Ging 2019; Parent et al. 2019; Scarcelli and Farci 2024). Digital spaces, such as social media platforms, contribute to the reinforcement of toxic masculinity. Online environments promote hypermasculinity and problematic gender behaviors, but they are also offering spaces for vulnerable expressions of masculinity. This duality demonstrates the complex and evolving nature of masculinity in the digital age. These ongoing paradoxes, with both the digital man and woman, highlight the need for studies like ours that focus on post-industrial society and the immediate origins of the networked or digital society. The social media platforms contribute to reshaping the perception of masculinity (and femininity). Men engage in performative masculinity online, often reflecting both traditional masculine ideals and the growing trend of vulnerability.

This evolving portrayal demonstrates how masculinity is increasingly subject to negotiation and performance in public digital spaces. This contributes to the diversification of masculinity, offering contradictory versions of masculinity. In a parallel, or very similar, process to the issues observed in our study, this highlights that the modern man is a topic of great interest and relevance. Future studies should incorporate a more international perspective and deeper exploration (with circulation data and samples of influence) into this research.

This study sheds light on the complex evolution of masculinity during Spain’s transition to democracy, focusing specifically on the role of men’s magazines in shaping and reflecting these changes. The magazines analyzed serve as cultural artifacts that embody the tension between traditional “macho” masculinity and the new, more consumerist and individualistic models emerging in the post-Franco era. These publications played a pivotal role in constructing new masculine identities, while also maintaining certain aspects of patriarchal values, mirroring the societal shifts occurring in Spain at the time.

The transition from dictatorship to democracy, alongside the broader influence of globalization and media consumption, acted as a catalyst for reconfiguring male gender roles. Men’s magazines navigated the delicate balance between presenting men as both consumers and aspirational figures, while also continuing to uphold certain ideals of male dominance and sexual power. The persistence of these traditional ideals, even amidst democratization, underscores the enduring presence of machismo in Spanish society, which continues to be reflected in the media.

Ultimately, this study contributes to the broader field of gender studies by emphasizing how media representations of masculinity in Spain reflect both local and global influences. The findings call for further explorations of how shifting gender representations in media correspond to social processes like democratization, neoliberalism, and cultural globalization.