Satire goes off-leash: How fake dog adverts in ‘Canine Quarterly’ became high art
When I was young, my mother gifted me a subscription to Dog Fancy magazine. It was definitely one of those scenarios that sounds great in theory, enriching even, until the back issues begin piling up. Oh great, another one? Add it to the stack… I still have about a year’s worth of The New Yorker sitting under my bed. I’ll get to it.
The main reason why I was a subscriber of Dog Fancy wasn’t because, at age eight, I wanted to learn the ins and outs of the cutthroat canine industry. It was because I thought my two Shetland Sheepdogs would enjoy it. But, guess what? They could not have cared less. I mean, Dog Fancy is sooo basic. It’s like a dog reading Martha Stewart Living. Sure, my dogs could barely see, but at least they had class.
Years later, I discovered that there had been a few late 1980s parody magazines, specifically Canine Quarterly and Dogue, written for the classy, sophisticated dog of the modern American home. Although cleverly tongue-in-cheek, the content within is presented in an entirely serious manner, as if its audience were wholly made up of trendy, upscale pooches. Topics range from your typical leisure digest fare – relationships, diet, style, travel, home, and fitness. There’s a cover story on Spuds MacKenzie (Bud Light mascot and the ‘Original Party Animal’), a section on dream doghouses, hound-friendly dinner recipes, canine couture, pet horoscopes, and a gift guide for their favourite human. It is truly, as they say, “paw-some”.
The most rewarding thing about picking up a copy of Dogue or CQ is its advertisements – mostly spoofs on popular clothing brands, jewellery, and cosmetics. It is very clear that the author had a lot of fun creating these, especially since a number of other similar satire publications had popped up in the years surrounding, like Cowsmopolitan, Playboar, Vanity Fur, Good Mousekeeping, and Catmopolitan.
But let’s get one thing straight: the late-80s canine couture scene was no joke. If you thought Anna Wintour had claws, you’ve clearly never tangled with the editorial vision of Canine Quarterly. These mags weren’t just parody – they were portals into a parallel universe where bulldogs wore bowler hats to Parliament and Dalmatians modelled French-engineered briefs. The ‘Hats Are Back’ campaign, featuring a jowly English bulldog channelling Winston Churchill by way of Carnaby Street, is pure genius. That deadpan expression. The Union Jack. The existential loneliness of the bowler hat.
And then there’s ‘International Tail’, a page that deserves to hang in MoMA next to Barbara Kruger and Richard Prince. A Dalmatian stares straight through your soul, wearing what can only be described as military-grade underpants. The copy reads like a pitch for a Cold War-era tactical jockstrap: “Reinforced crotch for durability… imported from France in Bone, Kerry Blue, Fire Hydrant Red”. It’s all delivered with the same poker-faced seriousness you’d expect from GQ. You can practically hear the low synth hum of a Patrick Nagel painting coming to life. Somewhere, Helmut Newton’s ghost is nodding in approval.
Let’s not forget the architectural flex of the canine dream homes. One photo shows a mutt lounging outside a Bavarian-style chalet that’s more ornate than my first apartment. Another features a Dalmatian inside a cube-like postmodern dog pod, lounging on zebra print, like a four-legged Yves Saint Laurent. Even the collars weren’t spared the treatment: one Scottie poses dramatically in a diamond choker that “contains over 200 quality diamonds”.
The tagline? “She yearns for freedom and excitement. Collar her.” That’s not just satire—that’s an entire unmade John Waters film in a single caption.
Take a look at some of the most clever advertisements and other photos from Canine Quarterly and Dogue below, just don’t purchase any of these thinking your pet would be interested in reading – it still isn’t food.
