What exactly is the point of the Pirelli calendar?

The fashion industry is already excited about next year’s Pirelli calendar, but it’s a tradition that leaves many men bemused, says Tom Fordy

WHILE still celebrating its 50th anniversary, the Pirelli Calendar is already creating a buzz for next year’s edition. The 2015 calendar, shot by acclaimed fashion photographer Steven Meisel and styled by Carine Roitfeld, former editor of French Vogue, will have a fetish theme and will feature Candice Huffine, its first ever plus-size model.

That’s all very exciting – if you can get your hands on a copy, which of course you can’t. The Pirelli Calendar is a strange tradition, the purpose of which is likely to leave most men baffled.

It can’t be bought, yet it must cost a bomb to make. Presumably it still makes excellent business sense to Pirelli as a marketing exercise (the fact that I’m writing about it suggests they’re right), even though, surely, no one ever reads a press article about the latest calendar and thinks, “That reminds me, I must pop down to Kwik-Fit and stock up on a new set of radials”.

To the untrained, non-fashion eye, it’s an anachronistic curiosity, belonging to a pre-internet era when men had to search a bit harder for images of naked women. In a simplistic sense it’s like a posh version of the nudey calendars you would see mechanics and convicts pinning up on ‘70s television shows. So why is it the media still gets so hot under the collar about it each year?

The first edition of the Pirelli Calendar, a celebration of the female form, was produced in 1964 as something of an exercise in “luxury marketing” for the Italian tyre manufacturer. It was sent to business associates, VIPS, and celebrities, and over the years its production has attracted high-end talent – both behind and in front of the camera. The roll-call of photographers reads like an industry who’s-who (Mario Testino, Richard Avedon, Annie Leibovitz, Patrick Demarchelier, Steve McCurry, Terence Donovan, Norman Parkinson...). It consistently features some of the most beautiful and successful women in the world — the likes of Naomi Campbell, Kate Moss, Sienna Miller, Sophia Loren, and Heidi Klum.

These days, it feels like an integral part of the fashion world’s yearly cycle, with the announcement of each new edition causing a style-conscious stir amongst the great and good. Each year it is welcomed not as an exercise in titilation, but as the unveiling of a work of art.

If the idea of naked women posing on a calendar seems to belong to a much less salubrious tradition, the Pirelli Calendar rises above it. It is not just socially acceptable, but seems to be immune from criticism. Is this simply because of the glamorous presentation and the calibre of the photographers used each year? Perhaps so, but where does the appreciation of a beautifully photographed female body end and the objectification of women begin, and isn’t all subjective anyway?

I’ve commented before about how, despite changing and progressive attitudes, sex remains the media’s primary sales tool, even if its methods have become increasingly sophisticated. Are the half-naked images we see on the Pirelli Calendar (or in fashion magazines) really so different to those in lads’ mags or in Page Three?

I once asked this question to a group of women. The looks of disgust and disbelief directed towards me suggested they didn’t think so. It’s safe to say that as a man it’s hard to see women’s perspective on this, which makes the Pirelli Calendar difficult for me and other men to comprehend.

The nudey calendar has been appropriated by women elsewhere, too. The Warwick University rowing club caused some feminist debate when its female rowing team posed naked for a charity calendar in 2013 (and followed it up in 2014). For some, it was tacky and degrading; for others, it was case of sisters doing it for themselves and good on them.

That same sense of empowerment seems to apply to the Pirelli Calendar too. The fetish-themed 2015 calendar will feature latex corsets and bustiers, and is inspired by (among others) Catwoman and Brigitte Bardot. If women want to tell me that’s empowering, and if the fashion pack tell me it’s art, well, who am I to argue?