Let’s rewind to a time before hashtags, digital think-pieces, and TikTok debates—back to the 1970s, when printed magazines were the lifeline of counterculture and revolution. Amid the glossy pages of fashion and homemaking advice, one publication stood out like a raised fist in a sea of manicured hands. That magazine was Ms.
If you’ve ever heard the names Gloria Steinem, Alice Walker, Susan Sontag, Anne Sexton, Shirley Chisholm, Zora Neale Hurston, or Billie Jean King and felt a jolt of awe, know that Ms. either amplified their voices or was built on the ideals they championed. The new HBO documentary Dear Ms.: A Revolution in Print—streaming on Max—digs into the origin story of this feminist juggernaut, offering a layered portrait of how one magazine changed the game for women everywhere.
But instead of a traditional start-to-finish doc, Dear Ms. is split into three chapters, each helmed by a different director: Salima Koroma, Alice Gu, and Cecilia Aldarondo. It’s an unusual creative choice, especially for HBO, which usually thrives with limited series formats. The trilogy approach adds some narrative redundancy, but it also lends a multifaceted voice to a deeply intersectional subject. And really, isn’t that kind of the point?
A Revolution in Print—Literally
The film’s title isn’t exaggerating. Ms. wasn’t just another lifestyle rag; it was the written embodiment of the women’s liberation movement. The magazine burst onto the scene in 1972, refusing to play by the rules of mainstream media. It gave women the mic and told them not to whisper but shout. What made Ms. revolutionary wasn’t just its subject matter—it was its defiance of publishing norms. This was media by women, for women, about women’s lives.
The first installment of the doc, A Magazine for Women, directed by Salima Koroma, dives deep into that origin story. Koroma doesn’t just throw facts at the viewer—she weaves historical footage, animated flair, and emotionally charged interviews into something that feels alive and pulsing with urgency.
There are dazzling clips of Gloria Steinem, who is, unsurprisingly, the beating heart of both the film and the movement. But the doc doesn’t turn her into a one-woman show. Instead, it highlights the collaborative nature of Ms., showing how a team of visionary editors—including Pat Carbine and Letty Cottin Pogrebin—took huge personal and professional risks to launch something they believed the world desperately needed.
Koroma brings attention to the complicated dynamic between Ms. and ESSENCE magazine, the latter being a space specifically created for Black women. ESSENCE was founded a year before Ms., and though both aimed to uplift women, they did so from different cultural perspectives. The film attempts to reconcile the tension between the two, spotlighting Marcia Ann Gillespie—who eventually became editor-in-chief of Ms. in the 1990s—but doesn’t entirely escape the sense of competitive framing. While the intent seems to be restorative, it occasionally veers into “compare-and-contrast” territory.
Still, part one succeeds in laying the groundwork for everything that follows. It brings to light a simple but radical truth: for women in the ’70s, seeing themselves reflected honestly in media was groundbreaking. Telling the truth—and hearing it—was a revelation.
When Ms. Talked to the Men
Part two, A Portable Friend, directed by Alice Gu, shifts gears and explores a lesser-known but intriguing chapter in Ms. history—the Men’s Issue. Yes, Ms. once released a special edition aimed at men, and Robert Redford (heartthrob alert) was on the cover.
This was risky business. In the midst of carving out a space for women’s autonomy and voice, why would Ms. hand the mic to men? Gu’s segment answers that by examining the logic behind the move: if men are part of the problem, shouldn’t they also be part of the solution?
Through archival interviews and pointed analysis, A Portable Friend doesn’t just look at how men were portrayed—it unpacks the wider societal backlash to feminism and the deeply entrenched sexism that Ms. was pushing against. Domestic abuse, workplace discrimination, and ingrained misogyny were all fair game for the magazine, and Gu doesn’t shy away from tackling those same issues head-on.
The Men’s Issue wasn’t a gimmick—it was a provocation. And like much of Ms.’s work, it sparked necessary, albeit uncomfortable, conversations.
The Vulva Issue: Owning the Female Body
The third and final part, No Comment, directed by Cecilia Aldarondo, is perhaps the most emotionally and visually provocative. The segment opens with stark images of vulvas and doesn’t flinch from exploring one of the most contentious arenas in feminism: female sexuality.
Aldarondo anchors her chapter in Ms.’s “Erotica and Pornography: Do You Know the Difference?” issue. This was an edition that split feminists right down the middle, raising essential questions: Can female sexuality be empowering if it’s packaged for the male gaze? Is porn inherently oppressive? What does it mean to reclaim the image of the female body?
These questions remain unresolved even today, and that’s kind of the point. No Comment doesn’t try to tie things up in a neat bow. Instead, it captures the friction, discomfort, and beauty of a movement that is always in motion.
The vulnerability here is raw—both visually and ideologically. This chapter is more about asking than answering, and in doing so, it mirrors the very essence of the women’s liberation movement: dialogue, debate, and pushing boundaries.
A Missed Opportunity on Inclusion
While the doc champions bold storytelling, it doesn’t entirely live up to the inclusive values that Ms. has come to represent. Koroma’s first chapter makes visible attempts to showcase diversity through casting, archival footage, and interviews. But the second and third parts noticeably lack a broad representation of women of color.
And that feels like a step backward, especially given the film’s awareness of Ms.’s own missteps in this area. Yes, we can’t change who was in the archival footage, but the documentary had the chance to frame those gaps and contextualize them. Instead, the later chapters appear to drop the ball—along with the fun, stylized animations from part one. It’s a strange tonal shift that might leave some viewers wondering why the energy deflates halfway through.
Nostalgia, Progress, and the Power of Print
One thing Dear Ms. nails consistently across all three parts is the emotional pull of the archival footage. Watching Gloria Steinem speak with the same clarity and conviction in the 1970s as she does today is both comforting and infuriating. Comforting because her message hasn’t changed; infuriating because it still needs to be said.
Photos of the editorial team scribbling on paper drafts, circling headlines with red ink, and writing longhand notes on physical layouts evoke a sense of creative intimacy that’s all but vanished in today’s click-optimized world. Digital-first has become the norm, but the physicality of Ms. reminds us of the weight words can carry when printed and placed in someone’s hands.
It’s not just about nostalgia—it’s about recognizing the roots of a movement that still shapes our present. The fight for bodily autonomy, fair pay, representation, and justice is far from over. And while modern platforms like Instagram, Substack, and TikTok might be today’s arenas for activism, Dear Ms. makes the case that print media—real, tangible, ink-on-paper media—still holds a kind of sacred power.
Why This Documentary Matters Now
In a media climate where publications are downsizing or “pivoting” away from hard-hitting content, the story of Ms. stands out as a symbol of what’s possible when people commit to telling the truth. It’s hard to imagine a major outlet today giving carte blanche to a group of feminist editors to launch something this radical, but Ms. did it—and succeeded.
The first issue sold out almost instantly, proving that the hunger for representation and honesty was (and still is) very real.
Though the documentary isn’t flawless, its flaws mirror those of the magazine it celebrates. Ms. didn’t always get it right, and neither does Dear Ms. But both are rooted in an undeniable authenticity—a passion for change that refuses to quiet down or smooth its edges.
And in 2025, that’s more than just refreshing—it’s revolutionary.
