Like many women who grew up in the golden age of Tiger Beat magazine, my past includes a long list of celebrity crushes. It’s hard to say who the first was; perhaps Grease-era John Travolta or Patrick Swayze in his Dirty Dancing glory days claim the title. There’s no telling who the last will be; at twenty-five, I routinely run Google image searches on Clive Owen and Ryan Gosling and I’m not (that) ashamed. But when it comes to the biggest, most earnest celebrity crush I ever had, the choice is a no-brainer—Joshua Jackson, former star of Dawson’s Creek, current star of Fringe, and the perpetual star of my adolescent daydreams.
My interest in Mr. Jackson started innocently enough with The Mighty Ducks in 1992, where he played Charlie, the endearing hockey protégé. I thought him cute, but he was quickly forgotten during the JTT (Jonathan Taylor Thomas) mania of the early nineties. Then he showed up on my TV screen as Pacey on Dawson’s Creek when I was thirteen and eclipsed all other crushes.
I bought every magazine that had a story about him. I watched every movie that included him in the credits, including some serious stinkers (the third Mighty Ducks movie and Urban Legend, for instance). In my crush-addled mind, he could do no wrong—I even thought he looked hot during his disastrous bleached-blond hair stage.
He still gives me the warm fuzzies, though I’m less inclined to paper my walls with his pictures. But if Dawson’s Creek happens to be on TV, I’ll totally sit down and watch. The intensity of my crush might have quelled over time, but the aesthetic pleasure of watching a good-looking man? Well, that’s timeless.
Photo source: Hot Rod Homepage  (cc)
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