I’ve got a confession to make: I’m on the J Crew catalog mailing list.  This, despite the fact that 82% of its pages feature women’s fashions.  In fact, this is EXACTLY the reason I subscribed: because J Crew catalog models represent the most perfect species of women in the world.


Now I know that this is a bold statement, but my sole argument is this: they represent the best of all worlds. 


J Crew models represent America’s true melting pot of hotness; they come in all colors and shades, races and ethnicities.  I back up this claim with the simple fact that, just by looking at them, they can make even the most ethnocentric white honky feel comfortable enough to consider dating a black/Hispanic/Asian woman.  This is because almost every J Crew model is a slash-American, exuding the perfect genetic blend of classic and slightly unconventional beauty.  I always pegged myself as ultimately settling down with the quintessential white, Cindy Crawford-looking (should I score so smoothly) girl-next-door type, and with a J Crew girl I feel like I still can – but with a sexy-ass twist of plaintain or sugar cane or coffee or chocolate or tequila or watermelon or sake or soy sauce or peppers or curry or matzah or rice. 



Mmmm.  Delicious.


 To me, the women of the J Crew catalog are many things beneath the surface.  If a picture is worth a thousand words, then, personally speaking, they seem like they are altogether (in no particular order, except the first one):


  • Relatively unsodomized
  • Open and accessible
  • Sweet, friendly and honest
  • Great in bed
  • Disease-free
  • Sane and emotionally stable
  • Accomplished and educated
  • Intelligent and articulate
  • Sporty and athletic (not rugby or softball players)
  • Domestic goddesses
  • Classy and sophisticated
  • Outdoorsy and adventurous


I realize that perhaps I’m projecting the qualities that I specifically might value in a woman, but tell me you don’t sense these inherent traits too.  Because you do.  No, I’m TELLING you…you do.




Lookswise, the J Crew woman tows the line; she strikes the perfect balance between all extremes, thusly:


  • Her age is somewhere between 24-34, which means that whether you’re looking for latenight, pantsless fun, serious dating or holy matrimony, chances are she’s game any which way.
  • She is not the runway heroin chic, androgynous skele-model, nor the intimidatingly Amazonian Victoria’s Secret angel.
  • Breast-wise, she’s the happy medium between the aforementioned flat-chested female David Bowie and the fake-mammed Frederick’s of Hollywood bimbo.
  • She seems like the type you’d bring home to meet mom, only to have her become closer with dear old ma than you; likewise, she’d be down for an NFL game, where you’d discover she knows more about the West Coast offense than you (caveat emptor on this point).
  • She gets mani/pedis on the reg, but has no unhealthy obsession with the color pink.
  • She’s not a shot-guzzling bar slut, or a wine glass-swirling snob; the local microbrew is her ambrosia.


Flipping through the pages of Spring ’09, I gawk at the tall and lithe beauties as they look perfect in jeans and heels or a formal dress.  The fanboy in me believes that if you gave them pointy ears and put them in a forest, Peter Jackson would instantly produce a Middle-Earth-sized erection, since they would be a live-action prototype for sylvan elves.  And everyone wants to do a Tolkien elf.  Don’t do yourself a disservice by trying to deny this fantasy.


These women with the light and natural makeup and casual, somewhat coy smile seem to possess the quickly-disappearing feminine skills of yore: baking; knitting; sewing; gardening; child-rearing.  They seem like they’d be naturals at domestic chores and home-improvement.  Asking one to help you build a regulation horseshoe pit doesn’t seem out of the question.  They are the perfect marriage of the domestic trifecta: Betty Crocker; Martha Stewart; and Aunt Jemima.


It seems like a J Crew girl could make any man happy, unless you’re an Islamic fundamentalist.  Or Sid Vicious.  Or Gene Simmons.




These pictures are indeed worth a thousand words, and I am absolutely digging for subtext when I leaf through a catalog.  For instance, to me J Crew models look like saints on the surface, but with a hint of sinner behind those sparkling eyes.  A nice girl that’s a vixen in the sack, mayhap.  Now, please don’t confuse “vixen” for “dirty, insatiable whore” with an uncontrollable urge for props, toys, whips, chains, whistles, yo-yo’s, anal beads and multiple partners.  By “vixen,” I mean the kind of woman that is comfortable with her body, but still a little coy when first rounding third on the way to home plate.  She’s the Catholic-girl type who every once in a while will surprise you with a special outfit or some amazing technique culled from the pages of Marie Claire – the UK edition (the one with the naked chicks in it). 


This is the kind of girl who might talk in the act in moderation, not like she’s overdubbing a skin flick production from Van Nuys.  Truth be told, she’ll probably look somehow sexier in nothing but your raggedy-ass BoSox t-shirt than in that $175 corset-and-garters getup you (misguidedly) bought her.  Combine that hotness with your disturbing thoughts about Ted Williams and you’ll be sporting a green monster of your own night in and night out.


Now this J Crew girl is not all about sex; she’s into the physical, mental and emotional stimulation too, so you better represent with you’re A-game.  This girl is smart and likes to get dirty – with actual dirt.  She probably juggles classic literature with Slash’s autobiography; reads a little Cosmo but longs for the days of Jane.  She was an honor student but not a valedictorian; a cheerleader for basketball when not slide-tackling the shit out of her cross-town rivals; drives a hybrid SUV but would love it if you’d actually nut up and buy that ’67 Mustang you’re always talking about.  No doubt she’s a Madonna fan, but makes no secret about her love for the Crue or Guitar Hero.  Camping or martini-soaked trip to a day spa?  A toss up.  Clearly, she’s never had sex for money, but absolutely had “awkward” feelings for her uber-hot college roommate back in the day, which makes her pretty much…perfect.


Thumbing through these precious few pages, I realize that I’m in love, or quite possibly the hapless victim of heavily researched target marketing.  Either way, I can’t wait for the J Crew summer catalog, and it has nothing to do with the yuppie-in-training pastel fashions.  Instead, it has everything to do with this: