Confessions of a J.Crew Addict

Palmer Square, Princeton NJ

My love affair with J. Crew began my freshman year of college at Princeton University.  Although, I had attended a predominately white school since 6th grade, Princeton was a bit of a culture shock. Forget the absence of blacks and Latinos (I was expecting that) where were all of the Jews, ambiguous ethnics, and ultra-rich hip-hop heads?  I had never seen so many natural blondes in my life. 

I remember my first day in Forbes, when my new roommate's mother literally jumped when she saw my father in our room helping me to move in.  Princeton was not The City and it definitely wasn't Harlem. 

My Freshman year dorm.  It looks less like a plantation in real life.  

J. Crew catalogues seemed to be everywhere on campus: in the dining hall, the common spaces of the dorm, and appearing, if by magic, in my mailbox.  The world inside these catalogues was almost as riveting as the one in fashion magazines. The appeal was pure escapism; the models were always relaxed and free of angst; casually elegant and coupled-up.  In For Colored Girls, Ntozake Shange says "i found god in myself and i loved her fiercely." Please believe that that is exactly how I felt about the one black girl who appeared in the J. Crew catalogue in the 90's. 

In 1995 there was no online shopping (books were still used for research and computers were exclusively for writing papers). You had to order by phone from a customer service representative with a slightly Southern accent who always seemed to be happy to hear from you.

Circa 1995

Days later cable knit turtlenecks, boot cut corduroy pants, and sweater dresses would arrive at my door. The colors and fabrics gave me  life in a place that often seemed devoid of it. Furthermore, pouring over the looks and deciding what to buy was the one thing that my new roommate and I could bond over. Perhaps, if I dressed the part I would be able to navigate the two worlds I belonged to more skillfully.

As an adult, what keeps me loyal to J.Crew is the sense of affordable luxury that their clothes provide. That and the fact that their catalogues have moved from tokenism toward authentic diversity.  Except for this misstep in 2012. 

Using brown people as accessories is never a good look

I love getting a Style Guide and seeing a black girl on the cover, or pulling up the website an being greeted by Jasmine Tookes on the main page.  (When this first happened I thought that market researchers had determined that I was a black woman based on my internet searches and used this particular main page for me. I actually asked my white friend to go to the website to see if she got the same image).

I love feeling like J. Crew is advertising to me and trusting their white consumer to see themselves in women who do not look like them (as women of color have been doing for decades). 

Now that I am an adult (and have to pay for my own clothing) I won't pay full price for an item unless I'm actually swooning over it. Most things go on sale for at least 30-40 percent off their original price and J.Crew offers a 15 percent discount to teachers and students that can often be applied to sale items. 

My clothes, jewels, and shoes have been well worth the investment. When I'm feeling tired or rundown I put on a dress, a print, a bold color, or a fabulous necklace to stack the odds in favor of having a good day.  In my world you can be sad, but you can't look sad!

I see teachers who go to work in jeans and sneakers and wonder how they expect students, parents, and administrators to respect them as professionals. Once at work I was told that I "looked like I was going to a ball" and I took that as a compliment. When students ask me where I'm going, implying that I have some hot date at 3:45, I reply "to work." They are worth getting dressed for. And so am I.