Patriarchal Pagan Frolics
What happens when you mix “getting naked” and “go frolic in the woods” and “vaguely pagan costumes” and “nudism” and “for-profit magazine” in 1968? You get a couple of smug assholes in the Spring 1968 issue of Jaybird Experience magazine wearing blanket capes and feather plumes and costume jewelry while three pretty girls with untanned bottoms that glow like the full moon kneeling in front of them wearing more feathers and more costume jewelry, threatening perhaps to begin some unbalanced and ill-considered priapic rite unless a wrathful Baba Yaga striding along in her chicken-footed hut arrives to chase off or devour the grinning buffoons and let the ladies work up a proper woodland ritual:
I’m rooting for the witch in the hut with the chicken feet, myself. Although I would settle for a few burly satyrs with wineskins to show up, followed by a consequent Dionysian orgy from which all parties wake up chafed full sore both fore and aft, with a lot fewer smug certainties about themselves and their lives.
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So you don’t think they are real pagans?
I guess real pagans would have tanned bottoms.
JA, I do not! I think it’s a magazine props department turned loose on some paid models and or nudist-camp recruits (who might be the same people). Hippie-era neo-pagans were extremely serious about their iconography; there would have been a pentagram or an athame or a few runes or a cauldron or a makeshift altar or a big phallic candle or something.
I don’t hold the pasty white asses against anybody; then or now, full-body tanning was/is a luxury of the rich, the bold, or the extremely rural.