I'm sitting here, listening to Madeline Peyroux and flipping through my J.Crew catalog trying to think of something interesting to say to all of ya'll. Not much is coming to mind because once I open those glossy, beautiful pages of any J.Crew catalog my mind is instantly foggy and my eyes glaze over. I'm in a totally different world. A world full of color, cashmere sweaters with gorgeous rose appliques, playful patterned Liza d'Orsay heels, metallic jacquard dresses, and sequin sweaters.
I savor the J.Crew catalog. I make sure I reserve time to read it. I'll check everything off on my to do list, make myself a cup of coffee, put on my lounge pants, and I soak up every single page, picturing myself in Paris, the Kaufman house, the beach or in some perfectly red, orange, and yellow tree filled street. I want to crawl inside the catalog and never leave.
Call me obsessed. Hey, I'll admit it to anybody. I am J.Crew obessesed. If my house was burning, I'd grab photographs, my dog, and my entire closet of J.Crew clothes. If I had to pick between 1 million dollars and 100 things from J.Crew, I'd pick 100 things from J.Crew (but, let's face it, that may be worth one million dollars!). My family doesn't understand and my fiance' certainly doesn't understand. My name is Sophie and I am addicted to J.Crew. Here's where you chime in and say: Hi Sophie.
I work at J.Crew. In fact, you may even call me an indentured servant. I work for clothes. At work, I'm always piecing outfits together as I excruciatingly board fold tissue crewneck tees one by one. As I walk from rack to rack, I jot down my own little wish list in my head. I literally get a thrill when someone my size walks in with a direct return. When the markdown list gets printed off, I am first to volunteer to grab the pricing gun and go mark those bad boys down.
Let me say it again: My name is Sophie and I am addicted to J.Crew.