Nice Cans, Marc Jacobs

By Kathy Iandoli

I own 69 Marc Jacobs bags. That’s an appropriate number to land on at a time when Marc Jacobs is bathing in Diet Coke looking like a three-liter bottle of sex in these latest ads. This soda porn comes as part of Diet Coke’s celebration of three decades of deliciously dangerous saccharin and aspartame. Marc Jacobs was hired as the new creative director for this campaign, and his sexy ass is making the whole thing a very Dirty 30. There’s a commercial attached to the announcement, where a herd of suburban twenty-something girls are walking through a mall and pass a photo booth. They see someone in there wearing a kilt taking pictures, and then a white shirt drops to the floor. The girls are all “OMG!” so they take the photos from the drop box and see it’s Marc Jacobs posing shirtless. They start moaning and biting their lips like housewives reading 50 Shades of Grey, and then the curtain opens. There’s tattooed Marc rubbing a cold can of Diet Coke on his forehead. I have never wanted to be a can of soda more in my life. “30 years,” he says. “It’s definitely time to celebrate.” This is similar to that one Diet Coke commercial from years back where those whores are staring out from a window at a construction site watching some guy chug Diet Coke with no shirt on. Marc is much hotter though. Now look: I know he’s not buying what I’m selling. I’m not sure the birds in that commercial know it, but that means nothing to me. They mean nothing to me. Marc Jacobs, however, means everything to me. Read my VICE writer bio, if you think I’m lying.

OK, back to Marc.

So last month, I attended this talk at 92Y, where Marc Jacobs was discussing his life, and he mentioned that his and his business partner Robert Duffy’s contracts with Louis Vuitton were coming up, and they were going to negotiate the renewal. I’ve tried to google an update, but all that comes up is that Riccardo Tisci renewed his contract with Givenchy, like I fucking care. I personally don’t care if Marc doesn’t renew with Louis Vuitton. I don’t buy Louis Vuitton things. I’m not Lil’ Kim. I buy Marc Jacobs things. I was on Bleecker Street yesterday and spent most of my rent on random MJ shit like bags, T-shirts, and a little gold pen necklace that says “Bookmarc.” Now I’m going to have to buy Diet Coke and drink it because Marc says to. Gilda Radner said not to, though, so maybe I’ll just buy a bunch of cans like I did with Pepsi back in the 80s when the other MJ (Michael Jackson) was the spokesperson. That was right before they set his hair on fire, and I stopped supporting Pepsi.

The most important thing is this: Here’s a guy who was once three minutes away from losing his colon because of a genetic disorder coupled with excessive drug abuse and McDonald's intake. Marc Jacobs turned his entire life around and is now healthy and hot. While designers like Karl Lagerfeld call gifts from God named Adele fat, Marc remembers being fat so he’d never do that. He’s not emaciated; he’s buff, and he’s supporting low-calorie soft drinks. Maybe he shouldn’t be drinking chemical cola, but from the looks of it, he’s really just pouring it on himself.

I don’t mind, and neither should you.

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