Why has it taken so long for pop stars to invade the home goods universe? The symbiotic relationship between aging musicians and aging anchor stores is so obvious. Mr. Richie's studiously harmless, middle-of-the-road music harks back to a simpler, more innocent time when people shopped at cheerful, middle-of-the-road stores like J.C. Penney. Mr. Richie's music is sturdy, sweet, life-affirming, reliable. So is J.C. Penney. Mr. Richie evokes a less stressful time when it was still possible to get a decent night's sleep. So does J.C. Penney. Nothing says "stress-free" like the words "J.C. Penney." Not even "Orville T. Redenbacher."
Surely other aging pop stars with long-ago hits will follow Mr. Richie's route to potential retail glory. Early MTV stars like Rick Astley and Edie Brickell are obvious candidates. Less mainstream musicians might also join the fray. A take-no-prisoners, heavy-metal outfit like Metallica might bring out a line of jet-black comforters. Activist folk artists like Ani DiFranco or the Indigo Girls might introduce a line of alternative pillows and bath towels—with a portion of the proceeds going to progressive causes.
And there is no reason pop stars need to limit themselves to sheets, comforters and pillow cases. Actors certainly haven't. Back in the sixties, television fixture Jimmy Dean became much more famous by selling country sausages. Paul Newman's line of upscale foods are still a staple in the American supermarket. Blazing a trail for musicians, Linda McCartney introduced a line of vegetarian meals sold in supermarkets all over the U.K.
So it's not hard to imagine ZZ Top lending its name to a line of pickup trucks, or stubbly Phil Collins putting out a line of disposable razors. Come to think of it, the famously bearded ZZ Top crew could probably get more attention by selling razors—they reportedly turned down a million-dollar offer from Gillette in their prime, but times and finances change.
