Ah, the 1970s: flared jeans, free love, body hair … and the male centrefold.
It was 1972 and Ita Buttrose was appointed to edit a new magazine for women. Kerry Packer had missed out on the rights to Cosmopolitan and, ever competitive, wanted to stiff his rival immediately. They called the new mag Cleo (short for Cleopatra) and decided to copy American Cosmo, which had recently run a naked centrefold of Bert Reynolds.
But making that happen was no easy task.
“I’d have lots of men jokingly tell me they’d love to be a centrefold, but when push came to shove they’d pull out,” Ita said.
The Cleo team became so desperate that one day a fashion editor in a taxi saw a “good sort” on the street, asked the driver to stop and grabbed the guy to ask if he’d pose nude. “He nearly fainted. No one was safe.”
Actor Jack Thompson eventually agreed, but still things didn’t run to plan. The crew set up at the beach, but Jack didn’t turn up: he was at home, asleep, with a roaring hangover.
Then, finally, a breakthrough. As they all had coffee next to an art shop while Jack got himself together, they saw a Titian painting. Jack was posed as Venus in the classic Venus of Urbino painting. “The women of Australia loved it,” Ita said.
But soon, there were problems. Ita had to front the Queensland Literature Board of Review, then staffed by some very serious, very middle-aged people, and explain the centrefold’s extraordinary inclusion.
“They put a gold brick in front of his hand, despite the fact he had his hand over his business”.
(Here, the brick is black ….)