Local Man Insists Sydney Sweeney’s Jeans Ad Turned His Dog Into a White Supremacist

In a peculiar twist of consumer culture, Ann Arbor resident Gerald T. Wafflemaker, 47, has filed a formal complaint with the American Eagle Corporation, alleging that their recent advertising campaign featuring actress Sydney Sweeney has transformed his golden retriever, Muffin, into a canine advocate for white supremacist ideologies. As a journalist exploring the intersections of politics, business, and entertainment for The Critical Chronicle (“Fake News, Real Funny”), I endeavored to unpack this unprecedented socio-cultural phenomenon with the rigor of a Durkheimian analysis, only to find myself mired in absurdity worthy of a Kafka novel.

Wafflemaker, a self-described “freelance taxidermy enthusiast,” claims that Muffin’s exposure to Sweeney’s “Great Jeans, Great Genes” campaign—widely criticized for its allegedly eugenics-adjacent wordplay—prompted alarming behavioral shifts. “Muffin used to chase squirrels and beg for treats,” Wafflemaker told this reporter, clutching a tattered copy of The Bell Curve he insists Muffin “borrowed” from his shelf. “Now she barks in Morse code and keeps rearranging my fridge magnets to spell ‘Blonde Power.’ It’s those blue eyes in the ad, I tell you. They’re hypnotic.”

Sociological parallels abound. In his seminal work, The Elementary Forms of Religious Life, Durkheim posited that collective effervescence can imbue objects—like, say, a pair of high-waisted jeans—with totemic significance. Could Sweeney’s denim-clad charisma have catalyzed a canine cult of personality? Local veterinarian Dr. Penelope Barkworth, Ph.D., dismissed the claim, noting, “Dogs lack the cognitive capacity for ideological extremism, but Muffin did seem unusually fixated on a blonde Barbie doll last week.” This reporter, ever the diligent scholar, cross-referenced Muffin’s behavior with historical accounts of advertising-induced mania, such as the 1980s Cabbage Patch riots, but found no precedent for denim-driven dog fascism.

Wafflemaker’s allegations have sparked a micro-controversy in Ann Arbor’s dog park circuit, where owners report their pets exhibiting “suspiciously Aryan” behaviors, including rejecting non-organic kibble and growling at multicolored leashes. “It’s Sweeney’s fault,” insisted park regular Karen Fluffel, whose poodle, Sir Biscuit, reportedly began goose-stepping after glimpsing the ad on a bus stop. “Her curves and those jeans are a dog whistle—literally!” Fluffel’s claim echoes broader online outrage, where critics selectively condemn Sweeney’s blonde, blue-eyed aesthetic while praising similar campaigns featuring minority celebrities, a hypocrisy this reporter explored in a prior Chronicle piece, “Why Beyoncé’s Booty Shorts Don’t Spark Dog Park Protests.”

American Eagle’s PR team issued a statement denying any subliminal canine messaging, asserting, “Our campaign celebrates denim diversity, not ideological indoctrination.” Yet Wafflemaker remains unconvinced, demanding Sweeney personally apologize to Muffin in a Zoom call. “She’s got those eyes, that hair, that… presence,” he stammered, blushing. “It’s too much for a dog to handle.”

As this reporter concludes her investigation, one must ponder: does Sweeney’s ad represent a sartorial dog whistle, or is this merely a case of anthropomorphic projection run amok? Drawing on Foucault’s theories of power and spectacle, I propose that Muffin’s alleged radicalization reflects not Sweeney’s jeans, but our society’s penchant for ascribing cosmic significance to celebrity endorsements. In the meantime, Wafflemaker has enrolled Muffin in a “de-radicalization” agility course, hoping to redirect her energies toward chasing tennis balls, not ideologies.