If you're out to make a splash, cherie, do know your haberdashery

My grandparents used to get J. Peterman catalogues. From middle school up into early high school, I read them voraciously. I was mostly indifferent to the clothes depicted in elegant watercolor—although I did covet the duster, and the collarless Irish shirts, and a sort of swashbuckling, piratical shirt that laced up at the throat—but the ad copy captivated me. It was like haberdashery flash fiction. Five hundred words or less, in which both the garment and its particular character figured, and marvelously up-front about what image you were being tempted to buy. A little tweak of humor, a wink to the audience: look, we both know this blouse won't make you Lauren Bacall, but you've never wanted to feel like her for just a day . . . ? They drew you into a vanished world, a cinematic world, full of literary figures and artists' models and poetic, oblique encounters in small French towns and Italian streets half-slanted with shadow in the hot afternoon. These weren't just clothes, these were costumes you could wear every day. They were full of stories.

And then J. Peterman went out of business, and L.L. Bean catalogues weren't half as slyly literate, and thus ended my brief flirtation with the world of fashion.

Tonight I discovered that J. Peterman is not only back in business, but their basic catalogue is online. Watercolors, vignettes, and all. And much profitable time was wasted in contemplation of the shamelessly seductive ad copy of J. Peterman. (Also, furniture? Nobody told me they sold furniture. Whoa.) Some favorites:

The Freudian Shirt
Freud knew we all have a deep-seated desire to do what we please, without caring what anyone else thinks. Some shave their heads and fly off to Nepal. Others start smaller. They take tango lessons. Or collect Flintstone lunchboxes. You can start by wearing a shirt like this. The bold stripes are just different enough (from the usual) to softly signal that you are different (from the usual). Those who miss the signal may not be worth signaling. Most women find a little sartorial blip on a man's part rather encouraging. It suggests that there may be more interesting Freudian material below the surface, waiting to be touched.

(Cut for more interesting Freudian material. Also, lots of clothes porn.)
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And of course:

Harriet and Lord Peter Jacket and Pleated Skirt
They met in her cell in the Old Bailey. Had she fed arsenic to her lover? Had she? He proved her innocent. Met again in Oxford. (She wore this outfit.) He courted her; punting on the Cherwell, quail's eggs, wit, an antique ivory chess set. Proposed in Latin: "Placetne?" Oh, yes. It pleased her.

Heh.

Our children are leaving and we have no heads

This may have some of the most amusing questions of any what-[blank]-are-you quiz I've seen yet. Especially when you realize how they relate to the countries being winnowed out. Have you ever gotten back together with an ex?

You're Ireland!

Mystical and rain-soaked, you remain mysterious to many people, and this makes you intriguing. You also like a good night at the pub, though many are just as worried that you will blow up the pub as drink your beverage of choice. You're good with words, remarkably lucky, and know and enjoy at least fifteen ways of eating a potato. You really don't like snakes.
Take the Country Quiz at
the Blue Pyramid

(Cut for similar silliness.)
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