Bodacious!
The Sidney Sweeney saga continues, and it’s BEAUTIFUL, man!
for anyone gen X or older and many who are younger, the sydney sweeney jeans ad is an obvious icon, a cultivated callback to a genre that once was, the latest modern take on a corbusier chaise lounge or an homage to 1950’s sport shirts. it looks like 1,000 other things you saw your whole life, a piece of classic americana once as common as summer sunshine and about as objectionable.
on its overt level, this branding makes deep sense as jeans styles are changing, moving from the stretch-fit skinny jeans paradigm of the last 15 years back to a looser and baggy 80’s and 90’s low-rise style. it’s all of a piece: a throwback ad style to foreground a throwback clothing style. it caught the zeitgeist. it’s clever, stylish, sexy, and strong. she’s an attractive woman doing cool stuff in a cool stuff in a cool way. sweeny looks like a bad ass, the car is epic, and this triggers appeal to women and men alike. you want to go to there.
so why has the internet and the aggrievement industrial complex of media babble-heads exploded into such a lockstep tizzy over an ad that would have been utterly unremarkable during most of living memory?
El Gato goes on to expound on more than one of said reasons, all of which are perfectly plausible. But for my money, it really all boils down to just one crucial element: The Wokester Left—never among the most stable of us to begin with, either psychologically or emotionally—has now gone officially, certifiably, irretrievably, pathologically bugfuck NUTS. The slavering moonbats have lost contact with rationality and/or reality altogether and aren’t gonna be coming back anytime soon, assuming they ever come back at all.
Put another way, the loony Left’s visceral hatred for Mighty Whitey, physical comeliness, mainstream opinion, and a refusal to evince proper contrition—ie, to hang one’s head apologetically, as is only meet and just, for the abominable H888Crime!™ of being young, White, good-looking, independent-minded, and wildly popular with Normal Americans—has finally driven the poor dears clean around the bend and into the ditch.
Add to these egregious offenses the fact that Our Sydney remains defiant and unflappable under a heavy (and intensifying) barrage of Wokester vitriol, obloquy, and unhinged threats. Most maddening of all: she’s female but is in no wise the Wokester-approved flavor of Toxic Feminazi, nor does she show the slightest inclination to sign on. Really, it couldn’t be more obvious as to why the whackadoos loathe her so frenetically, yet can’t quite seem to quit her even so.
Remember back when Rush used to boast about “living in Liberal heads rent free?” He might’ve written the book on the idea, but Sweeney has taken it farther than even Rush himself ever imagined going. You just gotta love the girl for that, if for nothing else. Back over to El Gato for the happy ending, unexpected as it was until it landed in our laps.
the vestigial remnants of the cancel culture mob were all out in force demanding boycotts and censorship and playing that favorite role of theater kids everywhere: the victim.
but a funny thing happened on the way to the struggle session:
nobody cared.
academia roused itself to towering rage.
yawn.
newspapers manufactured outrage at printing press scale.
yawn. snork.
the internet exploded in outpourings of tearful anxiety projection and attempted villification.
and the jeans sold out in record time.
you cannot just tell people, “this is normal,” “obesity is healthy,” or “if a man (or a woman) will not date a woman because she has a penis, that’s transphobic” (people really claim this by the way and disagreeing with it has been treated as hate speech) and expect to be believed or to become a cultural touchstone.
and people are exhausted by it, desperate to return to a different time and a set of standards more in line with their lived (and biological) experience and preferences.
it’s about power.
they experience the empowerment of a woman like sydney as an assault on them because they see power as a zero sum game.
but so intense is this will to power that it cannot be admitted, least of all to themselves.
they are absolutely sincere to the point of non-interrogatable delusion on this topic.
it’s grinding them to dust because none of this works anymore.
the magic words have lost their power. yell “racist! sexist! structural oppressor!” until you sprain your tonsils.
outside of your ever-shrinking always on rage tribe, no one cares.
As I always say, couldn’t happen to a nicer bunch of assholes. Didn’t happen a moment too soon, either. A few paragraphs along, El Gato throws us a helpful compare/contrast bone:
CORRECTION: I wuz wrong just then; sorry, everyone. There’s no comparison to be made here, the two specimens depicted above are about as dissimilar as dissimilar gets. They are unrelated; exact opposites; light years apart; as different as chalk and cheese. They clash worse’n a brown shirt with a blue suit. Please allow me to atone for my error with another shot of Ms Sweeney’s astounding fun bags.
I repeat: YOWZA!!!! A bit blurry and out of focus, sure, but unless my eyes deceive me I do believe an enticing half-moon of undraped right nipple can be descried in the above screencap.
Careful fellas; human saliva can wreck your keyboard should excessive quantities of it be drooled thereon.
Poised, indomitable, intelligent, fiercely confident—all these qualities and more come together to make Sidney Sweeney the Platonic ideal of what legendary ‘rassler Lex Luger meant when he decided to call himself The Total Package. Throw in that 1) she’s also a well-trained, skilled shooter, and 2) she’s an avid vintage-car enthusiast, restorer, and diehard Ford gal who enjoys nothing more than getting her hands greasy wrenching on her own prized 65 Mustang, first and foremost among other FoMoCo models, namely her grandpappy’s old F100 pick-em-up in which she learned to drive as a youngster (and that she still owns) and her 69 Bronco, for openers. She even co-designed a Mustang GT limited edition model for the Blue Oval boys to boot. Background:
Sydney Sweeney’s love for cars is deeply rooted in her family background and personal experiences. Growing up in a small town near Spokane, Washington, surrounded by mechanics, she developed a genuine passion for classic vehicles early on. This passion was not just a phase, it is a family legacy. While the world knows her for powerful performances on screen, off-screen, she is just as comfortable under the hood, restoring classic cars and proudly sharing her projects. One vehicle in particular has been generating buzz, a certain Mustang. But is it the iconic GT350?
Sydney Sweeney does not own a Mustang GT350. While she is prominently featured driving a GT350 in the recent American Eagle ad campaign, her actual Mustang ownership is different. Sweeney’s love for cars and vintage models does come from her bloodline. In a small town near Spokane, Washington, she first learned to drive on her grandfather’s F-100 farm truck, a vehicle she still owns today. During the pandemic, she purchased an original 1969 Bronco that required extensive restoration.
Sydney Sweeney owns a classic 1965 Ford Mustang, which she has lovingly nicknamed Britney. This vintage Mustang is bright blue and has been the subject of her restoration projects shared on social media. Sweeney’s hands-on work and deep personal connection to her 1965 Mustang have inspired some of her automotive collaborations, including the custom 2024 Mustang GT she co-designed with Ford, but the only Mustang she personally owns and cherishes is her 1965 model.
To celebrate the Mustang’s 60th anniversary, Ford is building two custom Mustangs inspired by Sydney Sweeney’s Brittany Blue 1965 model—one for Sweeney, one for a contest winner. These cars feature a Robin’s Egg Blue exterior with a crushed glass clear coat, 20-inch chrome rims, Sweeney’s signature on the engine, and the Ford x Sydney Sweeney heart bolt emblem throughout the design.
Aiiight, I just can’t restrain myself: boyohboyohboyohboy, WHAT A WOMAN!! “Total Package”? Pish-tosh; doesn’t do her justice, not even close. Although I can’t honestly say I ever had such thoughts before right this very minute, saucy, sexy, succulent Sidney makes me wish I was about thirty years younger; way better looking; fit and healthy; independently wealthy; and lived half a block down from her crib. If I woke up to find all this had somehow come to pass, I’d run the shoes off my feet and my feet down to bloody nubs chasing after her fine self. I ain’t too proud to admit it, neither.
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