I was five years old in 1994, probably doing something brilliant like making potions out of shampoo and baking soda or reading at the level of an eight-year-old. I was raised in a nurturing house by a loving but conservative northern dad and a liberal southern mother who would, several years later, discover that she was fully lesbionic.
As such, at best, a copy of DIVA magazine might have been tucked secretly under a pile of folded laundry or rolled up and stashed in an empty tube of Corn Pringles. Remember those!?