I’d been eagerly awaiting the arrival of the latest JCrew catalog for the past few weeks. I couldn’t wait to see the season’s newest threads.
With my copy yet to arrive, I was shocked to find out, from Slate, that a hippie has infiltrated the walls of the American institution that is the JCrew catalog. A warm-blooded, greasy-haired, scraggily-bearded, meticulously unkempt hippie is now a JCrew model. I am outraged, steaming mad.
I go to JCrew to buy belts with crabs on them and pants that look like a quilt, not to see disgusting, long-haired heathens. JCrew was a place where everything was how it should be: rich and preppy as all hell. It’s little kids in $500-worth of clothing, jackets that cost more than my life savings, sweaters tied around the neck, and no hippies.
I don’t even know what to think anymore. Maybe it’s time for Vineyard Vines or Banana Republic?