Juliette Fretté Adult Film Performer

Ever wonder why a card-carrying feminist would bare it all for Playboy—again? Back in 2005, when I first stripped for the Girls of the Pac-10 spread, the follow-up Special Editions, and Coed of the Month honors, my go-to explanation was that I was simply researching a women’s-studies thesis at UCLA. The project, “Posing for Playboy From a Feminist Perspective,” explored how media images shape women’s empowerment and was supposed to become a full-length book once I graduated. Even after my sorority, Kappa Delta, put me on probation and some relatives voiced disapproval, I clung to that scholarly excuse more out of fear than conviction. I even tried dyeing my hair to dodge the busty-blonde label. But the urge to return to the Playboy world refused to fade, leaving me to ask the obvious question: could I still call myself a feminist? The word is often twisted into an anti-male slur, yet genuine feminism champions social, political, and economic parity—not hatred. I, for one, am a proud lover of men. We may be gloriously different creatures, but those differences should never block our right to live joyfully—whether that means corsets, suits, bare skin, or nothing at all. The real issue is empowerment: some feminists question whether celebrating my curves is “progressive,” but I see no contradiction. My identities can be fluid—I can channel Barbie, boho-chic, or any persona I please without apology. Objectification, porn, body image—all worth debate, but letting those debates paralyze us only shrinks our choices. I’d rather own every facet of myself, goddess and god, and choose the path that feels authentic. That realization brought me back to Playboy, still proudly feminist. Sure, the magazine has clashed with parts of the movement, but it has also advanced women’s sexual agency, reproductive rights, free speech, and civil liberties. Instead of rehashing old conflicts, I’d rather create harmony in real time—on these very pages. The simple truth? I’m here because it’s fun, it’s creative, and it feels damn good. That choice is my empowerment, and it ends with a bang we’ll both enjoy.