Let Me Introduce You to Stepdad
Playboys under the mattress, opinions on wood paneling, and no clue what consent is. Welcome to Stepdad Collages.
I believe that you can cry
or you can laugh.
But you have to understand why
you want to cry
so you can laugh.
Or both.
Stepdad Collages came to life in 2017, in a haze of Connie Francis tunes and stacks of old Sunset magazines I’d been collecting for nearly a decade. The final manuscript for my book had just been accepted. I finally had enough money to go to a psychiatrist, instead of hiding the cocaine I’d been doing for months because it was cheaper than my ADHD meds. And I needed something to do with my hands that wasn’t typing—something to do with my emotions besides wringing out my nervous system in flurries of words.
I needed somewhere to tape my moods that wasn’t a fucking “mood board.” A way to cut out my feelings without cutting into my own flesh. A way to express everything everyone thought I had, and everything I was without—no matter how beautiful or perverse—that I desperately wanted. Everything everyone seemed to ignore—or couldn’t see—that was happening to me. And everything no one seemed willing to hear. And all the things it seemed no one wanted to hear from me.
So, I created Stepdad. A mid-century creature that idolized— and vilified— all of it.
Stepdad Collages are made without any digital sourcing, resizing, or editing.
Every piece is built by hand from my vintage collection, which has grown from a couple dozen magazines to an entire closet full of Sunset, Playboy, LIFE, Better Homes & Gardens, Penthouse, The American Home, Playgirl, National Geographic, Disney Magazine, The Practical Encyclopedia on Good Decorating & Home Improvement and god knows what else—books and magazines on sex, home décor, and culture spanning 1945 to 1973.
While I love kitsch, this ain’t it. Well—it is, but every collage is made with deep intention. I have hundreds of clippings I’ve held onto for years, waiting for the right moment and the right placement.
Each Stepdad Collage is one of a kind.
My love of nostalgia is undeniable, but it serves a purpose. These images let me explore domesticity, gender roles, desire, discrimination, and discomfort through a modern lens—without the glossy sanitization they were originally built to uphold.
Why Stepdad?
I named it Stepdad because I wanted something close—but unsettling. He’s not yours, but he’s in your space. You can ignore him until you realize the magazines under the couch aren’t yours, and the decor choices weren’t actually your mom’s.
Stepdad is aesthetic control disguised as personal taste. He’s mid-century masculinity in a leisure suit. He’s hanging erotic fruit prints in the hallway and calling it “playful.” He’s boundaryless, and proud of it.
He doesn’t just show up in the work—he built the room it lives in. He’s the teak console and the smell of Scotch. The silent expectations stitched into every throw pillow. He’s the lie of comfort. The threat in charm.
But Stepdad doesn’t get the last word. I do. These collages might be built from his world, but they’re rearranged on my terms. Some pieces are chaotic and sharp-edged; others are tender, dreamy, even romantic. I let softness in where it was once suppressed. I use femininity as something expansive, not decorative. I control the balance. I decide what gets cut, and what stays whole.
The beauty of working with old print is that I get to recontextualize it—reshape a culture that once shaped us. Stepdad is a structure. I am the hand holding the (Exacto) knife.
Stepdad started analog and stays analog—every original collage is cut and built by hand, from vintage print only. But for the sake of time (and sanity), some of the collages I make for wine reviews here are digital. They're quicker, but the ethos doesn’t change. The eye is still mine. The tension, the subtext, the mix of control and absurdity—it’s still Stepdad, just adapting to the medium, like any problematic man desperate to stay relevant.
All collages posted to StepdadCollages on IG are all hand cut, as are every single collage in this post. (Website coming soon, IG is private because, well, boobs, but if you’re cool with boobs, there’s plenty more to see there.)
What began as a way to keep my hands busy—and my brain from unraveling—has become one of the most grounding parts of my creative life. The themes haven’t changed, even if I have. Stepdad still lives in the tension between beauty and control, nostalgia and unease.
The imagery hasn’t changed. But the questions I’m asking—about desire, objectification, performance, control, and erasure—keep evolving.
And now you’ve met Stepdad.
Charming, uninvited—
but impossible to ignore.
If you enjoyed this post but aren’t ready to commit to a paid subscription, consider buying me a sparkling water. 💦
If you made it this far, thanks for spending time in this weird, glossy, emotionally loaded little world I built. ❤️
All Stepdad Collages © Marissa A. Ross.
These works are original, handmade, and protected under U.S. copyright law. No digital sourcing, AI training, reproduction, reposting, or unauthorized use is permitted.
Violations will be pursued. I’m not kidding. Don’t test me.
For permission requests or licensing inquiries, email ciao@marissaaross.com with “Stepdad Collage Use” in the subject line. Grazie 💋