1999

22.3

Eleanor Hersey

The appearance of J. Peterman on Seinfeld in May 1995 marks the convergence of two significant 1990s media phenomena: the clothing company that redefined the rhetorical conventions of the mail-order catalogue and the television series that redefined the plot conventions of the situation comedy. The influence of these phenomena on one another is striking: while Seinfeld writers predicted and possibly contributed to the real J. Peterman Company’s collapse, the presence of Peterman stretched the limits of Seinfeld’s status as a show "about nothing." Although J. Peterman catalogues have inspired many satirical commentaries, the foppish character played by John O’Hurley may have had the greatest impact on the real J. Peterman’s image as an icon of rugged masculinity and world conquest. At the same time, Peterman’s character compelled Seinfeld writers to address issues of colonialism and racial stereotypes that the series had avoided in its attempt to maintain a generally "liberal" but largely apolitical status. As a parody of the J. Peterman phenomenon, Seinfeld critiques the catalogue’s manipulation of native peoples while participating in its reduction of colonial history to entertainment. When Elaine and Peterman travel to Myanmar in "The Foundation" and "The Chicken Roaster," Seinfeld writers Alec Berg and Jeff Schaffer demonstrate the ways in which parodies of imperialist texts may contribute to the exploitation of the Third World.

With the character of J. Peterman, Seinfeld combines two of its most successful conventions: the gratuitous reference to real-life products (including Junior Mints, Snapple, and Drake’s Coffee Cake) and the placement of Elaine in the power of an eccentric male boss, exemplified by her former position as executive assistant to Mr. Pitt. The series also capitalized on the J. Peterman catalogue’s increasing popularity with consumers in the early 1990s. According to Gail Buchalter of Forbes, John Peterman began the catalogue in 1988 after selling thousands of duster coats by placing advertisements in magazines like The New Yorker (224). The catalogue was distinguished by its heavy, high-quality paper, watercolor illustrations, and flowery prose, much of it devoted to tales of J. Peterman’s adventures around the world. A description of the women’s "Balinese Mandarin Collar Tee" on jpeterman.com represents the colonial nostalgia evoked by the catalogue: "Ocean Pearl. Bali. Balmy beaches. Velvet green valleys, fragrant temples. Have you noticed that the open, friendly people of Bali always seem to be celebrating? Cause for you to celebrate: This wonderfully versatile tee based on a traditional Balinese design. (Their arms, bare. Ours, long sleeved for less temperate climates.)" A description of the "Vintage Seersucker Shirt" on the same web site evokes the past lives of J. Peterman’s American male consumers: "What you used to wear steaming up to Luxor with your daguerroetype camera, attending get-togethers of The Soerabaja Planters Association or coffee auctions in New Orleans, circa 1850." Although the prices are steep ($38 for the Balinese tee, $54 for the seersucker shirt), the romantic prose seduced thousands of consumers, allowing John Peterman to begin a new catalogue entitled Booty, Spoils, and Plunder and to open a chain of retail stores.

When the catalogue gained a large circulation and significant consumer following, many journalists praised its lyrical prose and visual appeal, while others criticized its conservative race, class, and gender politics. In a 1991 article in Gentlemen’s Quarterly, Hilary Sterne claims that J. Peterman is "a catalogue even a tree spiker could love," its copy "wry and rugged and clean as a dry martini" (78). In a 1994 article in the teen magazine Sassy, Marjorie Ingall calls the catalogue "a veritable fork plunged into my neurons," filled with clothes "that wear their overblown, race-obsessed, imperialist male fantasies on their creamy white, starched linen sleeves" (80). Writing for the New York Times Magazine in 1993, Holly Brubach describes her own ambivalent reaction to the catalogue: "Of all the catalogues I have come to know, this one is by far the most personal—a direct reflection of an individual who comes off as charismatic. It is also, in many respects, the most perplexing, inspiring not only fascination and even fondness but also irritation and exasperation" (59). This combination of fondness and exasperation suggests the opportunities for parody that the character of Peterman presents, as well as the public’s tendency to collapse the real John Peterman with his persona, the "individual who comes off as charismatic." This tendency persists despite the reports in Forbes and People Weekly that the catalogue copy was written by John Peterman’s colleague Donald Staley (Buchalter 224) and that John Peterman has not traveled to many of the exotic places that the catalogue describes (Sporkin and Shaw 128).

Although these articles describe the real John Peterman as a down-to-earth, middle-class salesman with a family, Seinfeld’s reinvention of the character as an eccentric, single, New York City executive was so influential that journalists began to conflate the real man, the catalogue persona, and the television character into a single cultural icon. In People Weekly, Michael A. Lipton and John Griffiths challenge the reader, "Spend a morning at home with John O’Hurley, and you would swear you’d stepped right into the pages of the chic, deliciously overwritten J. Peterman catalog" (115). Although the writers assert that the television character is "a dashing, slightly daft mail-order king very much unlike the real J. Peterman," they also claim that O’Hurley’s speech falls "naturally into sonorous Petermanese" and include a photograph of John Peterman and John O’Hurley together on FOX’s After Breakfast. O’Hurley also states that fans beg him to sign their J. Peterman catalogues, reflecting the quasi-literary status of the catalogues as well as the shifting identity of their author-figure (116). This article demonstrates the success of the Seinfeld character in making Peterman more likeable and more laughable than he appears to be in the catalogues, both increasing J. Peterman’s sales and potentially undercutting his colonial mystique. Peterman’s appearances during the final three seasons of Seinfeld also emphasize the relationship between truth and fiction (Kramer sells his life stories to Elaine for Peterman’s autobiography and then begins a Peterman Reality Tour) as well as the relationship between colonial nostalgia and consumerism (Peterman threatens to fire Elaine because she does not like The English Patient, Elaine eats a piece of King Edward and Wallis Simpson’s wedding cake that Peterman buys at auction).

In "The Foundation" and "The Chicken Roaster," both aired during Seinfeld’s eighth season in 1996, Elaine’s attempt to run the company in Peterman’s absence highlights the roles of gender, race, and colonial nostalgia in the series’ J. Peterman parody. In "The Foundation," Peterman puts Elaine in charge of the company when he travels to Myanmar to find new products and to recover from his executive stress. Although Elaine fears that she is not qualified for the position, Kramer inspires her to find strength in her katra or inner spirit, a concept that he adapts from Star Trek movies and his karate classes. Filled with false confidence, Elaine begins smoking cigars and shouting orders to her staff, but her Urban Sombrero is an aesthetic and financial disaster. In "The Chicken Roaster," Elaine travels to Myanmar to seek the advice of Peterman, who responds to her catalogue cover with the words of Joseph Conrad’s Kurtz: "The horror!" While these episodes explicitly parody the imperialist politics of the J. Peterman catalogue, they also affirm the superiority of white masculinity in the business world by ridiculing Elaine’s attempts to assume power through ethnic borrowing and gender performance.

An early scene in "The Foundation" both affirms and destabilizes Peterman’s authority as salesman and symbolic colonizer of the world. Five copywriters (two white women, one black woman, and two white men) sit around Peterman’s desk, reading the product ideas inspired by their recent trips to various Third World countries:

COPYWRITER: "So I pressed through the rushes, and there, below me, the shimmering waters of Lake Victoria. . ."

PETERMAN: Oh, for the love of God, man! Just tell me what the product is!

COPYWRITER: It’s a washcloth.

Later in this scene, Elaine presents her idea for the Urban Sombrero, a fictional J. Peterman catalogue item that reveals the racial and gender stereotyping in this episode:

ELAINE: Well, Mr. Peterman, I’ve got a really good idea for a hat. It combines the spirit of Old Mexico with a little big-city panache. I like to call it the Urban Sombrero.

PETERMAN: Oh, my neck is one gargantuan monkey fist.

ELAINE: Are you OK, Mr. Peterman?

PETERMAN: [Walking to the door.] Go on, go on, go on.

ELAINE: Well, see it’s businessmen taking siestas, you know, it’s the Urban Sombrero. [Peterman leaves.] Mr. Peterman?

Soon after she proposes the Urban Sombrero as a catalogue item, Elaine receives a phone call from Peterman asking her to take over the company:

ELAINE: Mr. Peterman, you can’t leave.

PETERMAN: I’ve already left, Elaine. I’m in Burma.

ELAINE: Burma?

PETERMAN: You’ll most likely know it as Myanmar, but it’ll always be Burma to me. . . . You there, on the motorbike! Sell me one of your belts!

As a symbol of Elaine’s failure to assume Peterman’s authority, the Urban Sombrero reveals the gender differences that are reinforced by the J. Peterman catalogue and Seinfeld. Whereas the women’s clothing in J. Peterman catalogues often combines First and Third World styles (like the Balinese Tee or the Power Caftan), the men’s clothing is much more traditional than the advertising copy suggests: polo shirts, cotton twill pants, crewneck sweaters, leather jackets. In keeping with the disassociation of straight men from fashion in contemporary America, the catalogue goes to great lengths to affirm Peterman’s own machismo: an ordinary plaid shirt is "Rugged (made for businessmen and warriors)," and it "makes your shoulders look broader." Following the same conventions, Seinfeld writers often use the limitations of male fashion as a source of humor. When Elaine dons the Urban Sombrero in Jerry’s apartment in order to demonstrate her failure as president of the company, she parodies the moments in which Jerry’s straight masculinity is threatened by an unusual or flamboyant piece of clothing: the puffy shirt, the leather jacket with pink-and-white-striped lining, the man-fur, the European carryall. Whereas these fashion-related episodes affirm Jerry’s straight male identity by mocking the unusual clothes, Lisa Schwarzbaum notes that the costumes in episodes like "The Foundation" emphasize Elaine’s femininity: "[Elaine] looks really stylish, really tough, and (in more body-hugging styles) really sexy behind Peterman’s desk" (35). These distinctions between male and female style suggest that the Urban Sombrero is ridiculous, and even dangerous, since it associates straight American men with Mexican men and with fashion itself.

The significance of the Urban Sombrero as a dangerous, border-crossing symbol is reflected in the final scene of the episode. Riding on the subway, Elaine overhears a white businessman claim that he woke up from his office nap to find his walking papers pinned to the brim of his Urban Sombrero: "I never thought a hat would destroy my life." Reflecting the limits of male style in the workplace, this anecdote reinforces the racial stereotyping that makes Elaine’s fantasy of "businessmen taking siestas" ideologically impossible: in order to distinguish themselves from the immigrant workers who are perceived as threats to white job security, white men cannot nap. Of course, this anecdote is most explicitly a joke on Elaine, whose use of the term "big-city panache" suggests her failure to recognize the dress codes that disassociate white businessmen from ornament or flamboyance. The fact that the businessman’s wife bought the Urban Sombrero for him reinforces the idea that women’s misunderstanding of the male business world is destructive as well as ridiculous.

In the opening scenes of "The Chicken Roaster," Elaine’s authority is further compromised by a stereotypically feminine vice, irresponsible shopping, that clarifies her position in the J. Peterman Company’s hierarchy. Her reckless spending of company funds gets Elaine into trouble with Ipswich, a J. Peterman accountant who reminds her that she is still subject to orders from above:

IPSWICH: Nothing short of the approval of Peterman himself will save you this time.

ELAINE: But. . . but he’s in the Burmese jungle.

IPSWICH: And quite mad, too, from what I hear.

ELAINE: Wait a minute, wait a minute. Can I fire you?

IPSWICH: No.

Marked by the image of a map of Myanmar and a riff of Oriental-sounding music, Elaine’s trip to find Peterman exemplifies the complex ideological work performed by Seinfeld’s parody of J. Peterman’s imperialism. The Seinfeld writers’ choice of Myanmar as the site of Peterman’s Heart of Darkness is most likely related to its relatively low-profile status in contemporary American discourses of post-colonialism, both academic and popular. Yet Peterman’s statement that "It’ll always be Burma to me" and Kramer’s failure to recognize the name Myanmar allude to a painful history of British colonialism and nationalist, religious, ethnic, and economic struggle. In his Historical Dictionary of Myanmar, Jan Becka claims that the Third Myanmar Empire was conquered by Britain between 1824 and 1885, when it "became known as Burma and was made a province of British India" (4). Resistance movements began immediately, but the nation did not declare full independence until 1948. Originally known as the Union of Burma, the nation’s name was changed in 1989, when the State Law and Order Restoration Council "issued a ruling whereby the official name of the country in English—Burma—was altered to Myanmar, which is the transcription of the official name of the country in the Myanmar language used since independence in 1948" (vii). The name Myanmar therefore represents national, economic, and religious independence, as well as the affirmation of a native language.

These historical contexts suggest that Seinfeld’s humorous representation of Myanmar as the American man’s retreat, the Buddhist temple in the midst of the jungle, denies the political realities of one of the world’s poorest nations. Peterman’s insistence on calling the country "Burma" clearly reflects his nostalgia for the British empire and his refusal to acknowledge the political victory symbolized by the name Myanmar. Once again, however, this joke on Peterman is matched by a Seinfeld joke that replicates Peterman’s dismissive attitude toward national independence. When Kramer asks if Myanmar is "the new discount pharmacy," he demonstrates American ignorance of international politics and the conception of the Third World as a source of cheap products for Western consumption.

Elaine’s conversation with the mentally unstable Peterman in the shadowy Myanmar temple affirms the concept of the white man’s burden while it mocks Peterman’s assumption of power. When Peterman scares a native boy away with a stream of foreign-sounding words, Elaine asks, "You speak Burmese?"

PETERMAN: Oh, Elaine. That was gibberish. So did you have any trouble finding the place?

ELAINE: Well, you’re the only white, poet warlord in the neighborhood.

PETERMAN: Are you an assassin?

ELAINE: I . . . I work for your mail order catalogue.

PETERMAN: You’re an errand girl sent by grocery clerks to collect a bill.

These lines also allude to Francis Ford Coppola’s Apocalypse Now (1979) and Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness (1902), intertextual connections that are reinforced by the last words of the episode: "The horror! The horror!" The phrase white poet warlord links Peterman to Coppola’s Colonel Kurtz, the former military hero who has isolated himself in an estate in Vietnam, where he is rumored to commit acts of violence against the American government. Although the military sends an American soldier named Willard to kill Colonel Kurtz, a sympathetic photo-journalist describes him as "a poet-warrior in the classic sense." This connection between Peterman and Kurtz reinforces Peterman’s ambiguous relationship to colonialism and his simultaneously admirable and offensive character. In "‘Left Alone With America: The Absence of Empire in the Study of American Culture,’" Amy Kaplan suggests that Apocalypse Now exemplifies the ambiguities of American imperial texts. Although the film critiques America’s actions in Vietnam and links them to British colonialism, Eleanor Coppola’s documentary on the making of the film in the Philippines "refuses recognition of the film’s complicity with the imperial context that enables its production" (18). While Elaine’s presence distinguishes "The Chicken Roaster" from the virtually all-male world of Apocalypse Now, the episode emphasizes her powerlessness and inferiority to men. While Coppola’s Willard seeks Kurtz in order to confront and to kill him, Elaine seeks Peterman’s approval, only to become the object of the episode’s final joke: Peterman looks at her Urban Sombrero catalogue cover, and gasps "The horror!"

For Seinfeld viewers who are familiar with Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, one of the best-known texts of British colonial literature, another layer of meaning is added to this scene. The allusion to Conrad’s Kurtz, a white man living in the African jungle who manipulates the natives and is worshipped by them, has serious implications for Seinfeld’s critique of Peterman’s politics. For example, Conrad’s description of Kurtz’s report to the International Society for the Suppression of Savage Customs resembles many descriptions of the J. Peterman catalogue: "This was the unbounded power of eloquence—of words—of burning noble words. There were no practical hints to interrupt the magic current of phrases . . ." (123). This connection suggests that Peterman’s eloquent prose may contain the same basic message as Kurtz’s report: "‘Exterminate all the brutes!’" (Conrad 123). The last words of this episode, directed simultaneously at Elaine, at Peterman himself, and at the colonial legacy represented by Conrad, suggest that America’s love/hate relationship with Peterman places us all in the position of Conrad’s Marlowe, the white man whose awareness of colonial exploitation does not mitigate his own fascination with the racial Other.

These connections between Seinfeld and Heart of Darkness challenge many reviewers’ claims that the series successfully avoids racial stereotyping. For example, Jill Rachlin in Ladies Home Journal claims that "Unlike many comics who poke fun at race, religion, or gender, Seinfeld tries to do upbeat comedy" (68). Comparing Seinfeld to fellow Jewish comedian Howard Sterne, who makes explicitly racist jokes, James Wolcott of The New Yorker claims suggestively that "‘Seinfeld’ is a show that could play in a dark room without much being missed" (107), and argues that "the reluctance of the ‘Seinfeld’ team to tackle racial tension until they have the tone right shows tact. Just because some part of the American psyche is gunning for a race war is no reason to rouse more rabble" (109). "The Foundation" and "The Chicken Roaster" suggest, however, that Seinfeld’s silence about racial issues constitutes a political statement, as does its rewriting of colonial texts as parodies of consumerism and bad taste. When Jerry teases Elaine about going to Mexico for six weeks when she could have been equally inspired by eating a bag of Doritos, he demonstrates what Kaplan calls "Empire as a Way of Life," making a joke of the cultural difference and long history of political struggle between the United States and Mexico. Although Elaine seems genuinely concerned to expand her cultural horizons and those of her catalogue audience, her plea for respect goes unheeded, and Jerry’s adolescent humor prevails.

The ending of the Seinfeld series in May 1998 and John Peterman’s bankruptcy in February 1999 both attracted a great deal of media attention. Ironically, however, the television show that was famous for its sarcasm and emotional detachment ended in a blaze of nostalgia and regret, whereas the demise of the highly nostalgic J. Peterman catalogue met with satire and journalistic glee. While a New Yorker satire featured Peterman-like copy for the company’s wastebaskets, paper, and toner (Kenney 33), a USA Today article began with a Peterman-like description of Chapter 11 filing: "He took the hand-rolled linen papers from the weathered goatskin carryall obtained on the last trek to Nepal. As he submitted them to the grub-stained clerk, he solaced himself as he gazed at the verdant Kentucky hills, thinking of little else but happier times with his long-lost Himalayan love" (Strauss, "J. Peterman’s Travails" 1B). Several articles in USA Today invoked the rhetoric of the western and the romance novel: "End of the trail at nostalgic retailer J. Peterman," (Strauss, "Seinfeld" 1B), "The Kentucky-based retailer . . . failed to find . . . a white knight" (Strauss, "One Mistake" 2B), "J. Peterman is preparing to ride off into the sunset" ("J. Peterman’s Fate" 1B). While the finale of Seinfeld was called the end of an era and John Peterman’s bankruptcy was regarded as poetic justice, America’s fascination with the character of J. Peterman draws attention to the acceptance of First World power that continues to influence the most celebrated popular texts.

Eleanor Hersey
Department of English
University of Iowa
Iowa City, Iowa 52242
 
 

Becka, Jan. Historical Dictionary of Myanmar. Asian Historical Dictionaries Series No. 15. Metuchen, N.J.: Scarecrow P, 1995.

Brubach, Holly. "Mail-Order America." New York Times Magazine Nov. 21, 1993: 54-70.

Buchalter, Gail. "Posters from France, Motorcycles from China." Forbes Oct. 26, 1992: 222-25.

"The Chicken Roaster." Writ. Alec Berg and Jeff Schaffer. Seinfeld. Created by Jerry Seinfeld and Larry David. Dir. Andy Ackerman. NBC. 14 Nov. 1996.

Conrad, Joseph. Heart of Darkness and The Secret Sharer. New York: Signet Classic, 1983.

"The Foundation." Writ. Alec Berg and Jeff Schaffer. Seinfeld. Created by Jerry Seinfeld and Larry David. Dir. Andy Ackerman. NBC. 19 Sept. 1996.

Ingall, Marjorie. "The J. Peterman Catalog." Sassy Oct. 1994: 80.

"J. Peterman’s Fate." USA Today Feb. 23, 1999: 1B.

Kaplan, Amy. "‘Left Alone with America’: The Absence of Empire in the Study of American Culture." Cultures of United States Imperialism. Ed. Kaplan and Donald E. Pease. Durham: Duke U P, 1993. 3-21.

Kenney, John B. "The Last Catalogue." The New Yorker Feb. 8, 1999: 33.

Lipton, Micheal A., and John Griffiths. "Catalog Card." People Weekly Jan. 27, 1997: 115+.

Rachlin, Jill. "What’s the Deal with Jerry Seinfeld?" Ladies’ Home Journal Sept. 1992: 66-69.

Schwarzbaum, Lisa. "Elaine Style." Entertainment Weekly (Special Seinfeld Collector’s Issue) May 4, 1998: 35.

Sterne, Hilary. "Please, Mr. Postman." Gentlemen’s Quarterly Nov. 1991: 78.

Strauss, Gary. "J. Peterman’s Travails." USA Today Jan. 27, 1999: 1B-2B.

—. "‘One Mistake After Another’ Finishes J. Peterman." USA Today Feb. 24, 1999: 2B.

—. "‘Seinfeld’ Gives Mixed Signs.’" USA Today Feb. 24, 1999: 1B.

Wolcott, James. "Blows and Kisses." The New Yorker Nov. 15, 1993: 107-109.