How J.Crew’s Store Playlists Got Stuck in My Head Forever

Vintage-wash tees, indie sleaze, and a musical education I didn’t know I was getting.

I started working at J.Crew the summer after sophomore year of college — first at a factory store near my hometown, then at the King of Prussia Mall near my school, where I somehow became a personal shopper while applying to marketing jobs. (Personal shopping remains the most fun I’ve ever had on the clock.)

My Crew career ended when I moved to New York in 2012, but its influence (Dolores O'Riordan voice) lingers. I still have the Lucky Charms bowl of colored chinos, a firm belief that leopard print is a neutral, and the muscle memory of “shooving” my sleeves. Would you like that wrapped in tissue?

J.Crew in 2010; image via Quintessence

I was fully immersed in the world of J.Crew. I studied the catalog like a textbook. I memorized dozens (hundreds?) of color names that sounded like Brooklyn bar foods. I wrote charming little notes on J.Crew stationery inviting clients to see new collections. Jenna, Frank, and Mickey were one-name celebrities.

But the real legacy is the music.

Anyone who’s worked retail knows: the playlist is your most important coworker. It’s there every shift setting the vibe (sometimes tragically, sometimes magically) and subtly signaling when it’s almost your break. And in-store music isn’t random — it’s a whole sub-industry designed to shape your mood, your movement, your feelings about the brand.

And baby, I was shaped.

How the J.Crew Playlist Rewired My Brain

1. It helped me appreciate the classics. (I’m rebranding “oldies” because that word gives me the ick.)

Growing up, I’d protest if my dad put on the classic rock station instead of Hot 98.5. Then I realized some of the songs I was tapping my foot to at work pre-dated me by a hot… 24 years (“Dedicated Follower of Fashion,” The Kinks). I’m not embarrassed to say I was inside J.Crew’s four walls the first time I heard, or at least clocked, “American Girl” by Tom Petty and “Golden Years” by David Bowie. It also introduced me to “Boys Don’t Cry” by The Cure and I think that’s beautiful.

2. “Viva la France!” — Mariah Carey, and me after this job.

J.Crew’s love affair with France runs deep. There’s the iconic 2007 Paris catalog; the time they recorded an original French song for a campaign video; and, as recently as last fall, a partnership with Atelier Franck Durand — the Parisian publisher behind Holiday magazine (highly recommend) — to relaunch their catalog.

The Francophile energy extended to the playlists too, where I was introduced to l’incroyable “Breathe” by Télépopmusik, the lounge-y “Sexy Boy” by Air, and of course “L’Amour” by Carla Bruni — all three still in my rotation today. (Spoiler alert: all of these are in a playlist at the bottom of this post!)

J.Crew’s 2007 Paris catalog (via J.Crew) and Holiday magazine issues (via Atelier Franck Durand)

3. My love of indie — and indie sleaze — grew ten sizes.

Indie music was 80% of my personality for the better part of a decade. (I saw Regina Spektor at Messiah College in 2006. Try me!) J.Crew somehow managed to both affirm and expand my taste. I was impressed to hear “Marathon” by Tennis and “Taxi Cab” by famously little-known Vampire Weekend in the mix, but I also realized just how much I didn’t know.

My shifts introduced me to Camera Obscura via their cover of “Super Trouper” — which, God forgive me, I didn’t realize was an ABBA song because I hadn’t seen Mamma Mia! yet. Tragic. I discovered Two Door Cinema Club through “Something Good Can Work.” More like “Something Good at Work,” am I right?

Any self-respecting millennial knows indie sleaze peaked between 2008 and 2012 — right in the thick of my J.Crew era. And the playlists introduced me to some of the best of the best: “My Girls” by Animal Collective, “Never Forget You” by the Noisettes, “I Can Change” by LCD Soundsystem, and “O.N.E.” by Yeasayer.

Images via @ryancoxm on X; Tennis; and Noisettes

Okay, shall we take out the headphones?

You might rightfully be wondering how I remembered all these songs (so am I). Like my sleeve-rolling technique, some of it’s just musical muscle memory. These songs were the soundtrack to a pivotal stretch of life — the latter half of college and the post-grad year one of my favorite professors lovingly called “the Friends years,” when you lived near all your best friends and had very few responsibilities.

Britney’s Femme Fatale was also part of this era, but I guess J.Crew ran out of room on the playlist.

If you’ve been enjoying The Gift of Gab, why not forward it to someone else with deeply specific memories of 2010?

Thanks for reading, and see you next time.

P.S. There are a few not-exhaustive-but-still-fun playlists floating around online from various J.Crew eras, though none of them quite felt like my personal time capsule. So, I made one.

Listen below to feel like there’s a folding board in your hand, a walkie in your ear, and a third piece on your shoulders.