I'll never forget the episode of Sex and the City when Miranda looks down at a cluster of topless girls in a hot tub at the Playboy mansion. She smirks and says, "Tit soup." In that instant, their floating implants went from sexy to sad-looking. For historical purposes only, I had always wanted to go to the Playboy mansion. I couldn't wait for an invite. Ironically, I've been invited a ton of times, but I haven't gone. Why?
Because they were selling me these tickets. What was once the hottest ticket in town has not turned into a revenue-generating commodity for a failing enterprise. An aging Hugh Hefner has seen sharp declines in sales of his beloved Playboy Magazine. This is mainly due to the explosion of free Internet porn (Creator of Addictions and Destroyer of Relationships) and partially, I hope, due to more refined tastes of the American male. Oh who am I kidding?
Now the Playboy Mansion is Party for Profit, a naked Disneyland. This overpriced theme park of Old-Fashioned Sexuality seems the last vestige of places that evoke a time that predates the sexual revolution, before women attended college in and entered the workforce in mass numbers. The days when the number one goal was to train your looks solely for the male eye. Besides, can you even call it a party with a cash bar? Next thing you know, it will be turnstiles and metal detectors at the gates.