While the colors and the patterns on these swimsuits are fun — and there's certainly more fabric here than in the entire Lucky shoot — the bloomer-ish bottoms make me think of "full" diapers.

I definitely had a windbreaker like this as a kid. And hey, look! An Asian model! Is the 1972 Sears catalog more diverse than Vogue?

Is it the insanely long crotch, the slight flare, or the sea-sick colors that make these jeans "nautical" ?

The Asian girl seems to be saying, "How come everyone here looks like Jan Brady except for me?"

Wow, strawberries! On pockets! Far out!

The young lady with the megacollar purple shirt is saying to her friend with the apple belt, "Mary Jo is always opening her skirt. What a slut."

"Hahaha, anyone know any good sailor jokes?"

Did you know that 1972 was the Year of the Dress? Apparently, it was also the year of red, white and blue. And gingham. And hideousness.

SOMEONE ALERT KANYE WEST!!!1!!!! Yeezy: The gauntlet has been thrown. It's your move.

Ah, "The Rugged Ones," for roughing it, out there in the harsh terrain of the strip mall.

"No way, Jose, my dad sells way more used cars than your dad."

I'm just going to go ahead and point out the fact that the kids with brown skin are not, repeat NOT in the hero cowboy gear. Instead, they get some sad buckskins they probably traded some land for. Really, though: It's not the '70s unless there's a dude with an Afro in a Native-American-influenced getup. See: Jimi Hendrix. And Cochise from The Warriors.

So, which drugs were popular in 1972? Marijuana? Shrooms? LSD? Is there another explanation for these pants?

Check out the saucy minx in the middle, exposing her yellow leg for all to see! Slow down, you move too fast.

"Special" is a good word for it. A '70s-PC way of saying, "more likely to get beat up on the playground," no?

"Elementary, my dear Watson. And by 'elementary,' I mean 'elementary school.' Where I will be going… someday."

Finally! A situation in which jumpsuits are appropriate. The pink "bubble" sunsuit on that little girl, however, still brings to mind dirty diapers.

And look! Speaking of poop: While she tries to hold it in, the elephant just lets loose!

Earlier: The Best Sears Women's Fashions For Spring & Summer …Of 1972

The Best & Worst Of 'International Male,' Summer 1986
The International Male 1986 Holiday Catalog: The Recockulous Jackpot!

• We admitted to wasting our money on rampant Von Douchebaggery.
  
• Jennifer invested her booty in a pole dancing class.
  
• She should have taken lessons from nascent skank, 9-year-old Kylie Kardashian.
  
• We questioned Oprah's involvement with alleged puree plagiarist Jessica Seinfeld.
  
• We thought that Page Six should rescind its stock in Richard Johnson's salary after his unrepentant misogyny.
  
• Moe took one for the team by sacrificing her anus for Alli.
  
• Anna encouraged you to spend your cash on a dude ranch vacay to rope in a cowboy.
  
• And Jezebel made an investment in me.

Whether scientifically valid or not (probably not, but you tell me), the survey reminded me of my friend Jessie, a onetime New York City singleton and writer who, in a scenario straight out of a chick-lit novel, went on assignment to Montana, attended a rodeo, and came back with a real-live cowboy named Jake. (That's him, above.) I'd always been curious about Jessie's cowboy beau: Did he regularly smell of manure? Was he naturally bow-legged? Did he ride her as well as he rode horses? After the jump, Jessie takes time out from freelance writing and hauling stuff around her garden in a John Deere to confirm and deny a few myths about horse-wrangling he-men.

A lot of city women fantasize about hooking up with a cowboy. I was one of them. After 15 years in Manhattan, I'd pretty much reached the conclusion that I didn't want to end up with a New York guy, and ended up looking beyond the tri-state area for husband material. I ended up getting sent out on assignment to write a story about a rodeo in Montana where I met — lo and behold — a cowboy named Jake. We ended up getting married and settling in small town Lexington, Virginia — the home of his alma mater, Virginia Military Institute. In case you've ever wondered what it's like to live with and love a cowboy, allow me to demystify a few things:


Myth: Cowboys are sexy
Reality: Affirmative. When I first met my husband he'd just been thrown from the back of a bull and he was wearing Wranglers encased in a pair of golden chaps with tassles. What hardboiled NYC woman wouldn't fall for such a specimen of manhood? I couldn't help but compare this guy to my previous NYC boyfriend who thought an expression of manhood meant dropping $80 on a Prada keychain. Plus, cowboys workout from sun-up to sun-down—building barns, mending fences and the like—which is why the obesity epidemic still hasn't hit this segment of the population.


Myth: Cowboys like to work hard and play hard
Reality: Cowboys like to work hard and work hard.
My husband relaxes by digging trenches. He unwinds by stacking firewood. The only reason he comes inside each night is because I make him. For our upcoming honeymoon to New Zealand, he asked if he could pick up some work on a farm while we're there—you know, for fun.


Myth: Cowboys aren't in touch with their feelings
Reality: My husband got really, really pissed when his Bobcat broke down. But other than that, nothing much phases him.


Myth: Cowboys are hopeless romantics
Reality: Can a person own a machine gun and still be considered romantic? If so, then my husband is very romantic—especially when he shot a hole through a dime at 80 yards with said weapon of destruction (what can I say, he went to a military college). He eventually got rid of the machine gun, but I still have the dime as a token of our love.


Myth: Cowboys make better lovers
Reality: Who would you rather do — the horse whisperer or Spencer Pratt? Exactly.
Also, (and this is just my crack theory) I'm convinced that working outside, surrounded by trees and birds and babbling brooks and sunshine while burning a kajillion calories an hour, has a calming effect on a man's libido. Seems like every guy I dated in NYC had some degree of porn addiction — the result of sitting in front of a computer all day with pictures of illicit Chechnyn nymphets at their fingertips. The downside of all this outdoor manual labor is that when my husband's head hits the pillow at the end of day, he's already asleep.


Myth: You can't corral a cowboy
Reality: Despite the John Wayne "don't-fence-me-in" stereotype, cowboys are actually really into longterm commitments —e specially if you're a city chick. In fact, there's not a more perfect pairing than an urban woman and a range rider First of all, there's the issue of population density — or rather, the lack thereof. Aside from the occasional gal working behind the counter at the Feed & Seed, there's only a smattering of pretty women vying for a cowboy's attention (and when I say women, I mean those who don't chew Kodiak or go turkey hunting). Secondly, if you're at all intelligent, independent and don't work at the Kum & Go, he knows he can still do his cowboy thing and you won't get all needy. It's perfect. City dudes, on the other hand, are constantly bombarded by beautiful, perfectly coiffed babes, and they end up living under the Adderall-induced illusion that there's always a finer, choicer piece of ass sitting in the next cubicle.


Myth: Cowboys want to take care of a woman.
Reality: Mm, no. While I'm sure Jake would gladly shoot an intruder between the eyes to protect me, he makes me do things like hold heavy hydraulic nail guns and help him carry 300 pound pieces of timber from one corner of our property to another. And when I got bucked off a horse for the first time and landed on my head a few weeks ago, he chuckled.


Myth: Cowboys know how to clean up.
Reality: No matter how hard or how long my husband scrubs, he always has dirt under his fingernails. Always. At dinner parties, weddings, our own wedding...


Myth: Cowboys make better husbands than city guys.
Reality: They make better husbands in that they still harbor old-fashioned values. My husband never swears, he dislikes movies about adultery, calls everyone "sir" or "ma'am," he always says a prayer before dinner and he can't wait to have kids. And he doesn't beat me — love that!

WEtv Cable Channel Poll Shows City Women Prefer Cowboys [Cleveland Plain Dealer]

[Hollywood, July 2. Image via x17]