Catalogue Monologue
It was the winter that never ended…or the spring that wouldn’t come. The King Alfred daffodils are up in the garden but the temperatures aren’t, and you’re almost out of hard wood for the fire. Your wood dealer isn’t answering his cell phone.
As a resourceful man, you forage about for a fuel source. Burning the pine writing desk or an overpriced sawdust and wax fake log is unacceptable. Thomas Jefferson would never have done such a thing and neither shall you.
You will burn catalogues.
Why not? There are dozens stockpiled in your living room —Frontgate, GrandinRoad, Pottery Barn, Wisteria, West Elm. You can’t tell them apart.
Yes, you are aware it’s not a good idea to burn them because the inks and adhesives in the shiny paper coating will transform into harmful particulates and gases: Benzene, Carbon Monoxide, and Formaldehyde. But you are a man of action and you desire the warmth and ambience of a proper fire on a chilly evening. Toxicity be damned!
You sip aged Kentucky bourbon from an eight ounce rocks glass, and as you feed the catalogues one by one into the blaze you can’t help but think about the old days when catalogues were inspirational, entertaining, and often times sexy. Before they became fungible fireplace fodder.
As a boy you were titillated by pictures of men in their white underwear briefs in the “big book” catalogues put out by Sears and JC Penney. Of course, the models were airbrushed and not overtly sexual. They were smooth and flat like mannequins, but they still caught your eye even when you didn’t know why.
You remember fondly the J Crew catalogues that started showing up just about the same time you entered the work force. It was more like a magazine than a catalogue, featuring attractive people enjoying an attractive lifestyle that you too could enjoy in a pair of attractive $29 chinos. And order them you did, calling a toll-free number with your first credit card in hand. You don’t receive the J Crew catalogue any more, but you still favor simple stone-colored chinos, flat-front, of course.
The International Male catalogue was one you neither asked to receive nor did you EVER order something from its pages. Yet somehow it kept finding its way into your mailbox, even when you moved, announcing to all your neighbors that you liked to ogle pictures of half naked men in mesh thongs, gladiator sandals, harem pants, and tiger-striped loin cloths. Nobody you knew in button-downed Washington, DC, bought the stuff. Perhaps they did in southern California or in one of the outer boroughs of New York City? Unlike Sears, International Male emphasized the bulges on its underwear models. It was almost obscene, but damn, you looked forward to its arrival, as did most of your friends.
As you begin burning the Lands End and LL Bean catalogues you suddenly come across a strange white one. It’s not shiny like the others and it’s a different size too. Your hand begins to shake as you turn it over and see the name. No, how can this be? “Rosebud,” you whisper, as you kiss the catalogue’s matte finish.
Actually, it says J Peterman on the front cover, but you get my drift.
J Peterman is the Holy Grail for any catalogue aficionado, a mix of sharp wit, over-the-top writing, unusual products, and intricate drawings. There were no photos. And better yet, the publication was referred to as an “owners manual.” It was art and entertainment rolled into one. Everyone talked about it back in the days before the Internet, so much so that it was coopted by the hit TV show Seinfeld.
You personally purchased a set of mustard yellow Tuscan dishware with a rooster pattern from J Peterman back in 1996. You still use it today. Your moonshine dealer down in western North Carolina still wears her J Peterman black crushed velvet jacket. It’s perfect, she says, for a crisp fall evening in the mountains, a jacket with panache.
As quickly as the company rocketed to fame so too did it plummet, unable to keep up with demand and bleeding cash from over-expansion. J Peterman declared bankruptcy in 1999 and was purchased by Paul Harris Stores, which subsequently went belly up. John Peterman—yes there really is a J Peterman— re-purchased his company and name in 2001, and it’s continued quietly since. The actor who portrayed J Peterman on Seinfeld signed on as an investor.
There’s no way you’re burning Owner’s Manual 116, Spring 2014 tonight, because you have your eye on a couple of items. You reach instead for the three-pound Restoration Hardware catalog. At 690 pages its got to be the biggest (and most ridiculous) catalog out there today. While you should be concerned about the environmental impact of all that paper, what really bothers you is the poor typography, dull writing, and the fact that there’s no half naked man lounging on the $5,995 Soho Tufted Sofa.
You heave it into the fireplace and reel back from the whoosh. You have shopping to do and you need some more bourbon. Burn, baby, burn.
Rich Barnett is the author of The Discreet Charms of a Bourgeois Beach Town. More Rich Barnett