High Line

I got this email from J. Crew, which I mention far too often in this blog. It advertised a new line of t-shirts promoting the High Line. I had a sneaking suspicion this might be entertaining, so I went to the blog and read the post about the shirts. It is very important to me, in my liberal guilt, to make fun of the corporations I spend all my money supporting. I've gotten pretty good at it.

First of all, this absolutely gorgeous dude with some crazy prepster name like "Kaspar Whitley" or something was modeling the shirts. For free, I am sure. Because actual models are so gauche. Kaspar is a volunteer gardener for the High Line because J. Crew thinks its customers won't buy anything worn by people who work for money. They quote Kaspar, and I was amused/annoyed to see him refer to his volunteering as "my work." The shirts are described as vintage even though they are obvs new, and the damn High Line itself has only existed for like six minutes. And then! One of the shirts says "New York's High Line" on the front which I find dorky in a way I can't explain. Like the apostrophe and the location and the explanatory nature of it, as if to clarify for the poor, stupid reader which High Line they mean. (Is there another?) It is all just too much. I may have to stop shopping there. Nah.

I do not understand the whole J. Crew/New York relationship. Are we supposed to believe the wearers all live in New York? No way, right? Too cold! They must want us to think their customers live in the Hamptons, but only in the summer, and then ski in Vail or Vermont (yes, Vermont--totally) in the winter, with a short jaunt (and it is key to call it a jaunt) to some obscure coastal Italian village in the fall. During spring, though, they go really nuts and are off to safari in Zimbabwe, where they learn a bit of Ndebele and then come back to teach their friends Parker and Posey before it's back to the Hamptons again! Oh, but no. The Hamptons is too cliche. So is Zimbabwe, for that matter. Better make it the North Fork and Zaire. Can one learn Ndebele in Zaire? I hope so because how else are Parker and Posey (who cannot come on the safari because Mifi, their dog, has anxiety) supposed to become global citizens? The point is what does any of this have to do with New York? Answer: nothing. You see why I'm confused. They really ought to have a more sensible marketing strategy. This one is distracting.

This morning while I was lazing over the J. Crew blog, B and Ari had a terrible time with Legos. They wouldn't stay together, and Ari kept crying. B went to help him but ended up just as frustrated, and said quietly to herself on the 73rd attempt, "fuck me." Ari heard her and excitedly shouted, "fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!" B laughed, which encouraged him to continue with his monologue in this manner: "Fuck-ed-y fuck-ed-y fuck!" That's my boy. Fuck you, J. Crew, with your rich, volunteer models who garden for nothing, taking jobs while feeling altruistic for trying to learn the language of people who have no interest in talking to them. (Okay, I made that story up--but still!) Fuck you, Lego, with your poorly connecting pieces. Fuck all you corporate bitches. Who's with me?

The end.