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. 

 Cappucino-flavored!

 

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.

 

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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.

 

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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:

 

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