pubic relations

Jason Derulo Is the Best Publicist for His Mighty Anaconda

Photo: Universal Pictures

Now that Cats is released, it’s time to determine who won the monthslong press cycle. It’s just like the Jellicle Choice, the sing-off that (sort of) drives the movie’s plot, with Twitter as the venue for our Jellicle Ball. There, the cast of Cats has clawed, mewed, and posed to ascend to their version of the Heaviside Layer — the great beyond where they’ve risen above the hotmesssexgarbpile that is Cats the movie.

Who won the Jellicle Choice? It certainly wasn’t director Tom Hooper, who had to hustle to fix CGI so bad that Judi Dench’s human hands still appeared in the film. Was it Jennifer Hudson? She remained mostly silent through the buildup, instead relying on the single moment she bellowed TOUUUUCCHH MEEEEEE, but she gets points for using the opening day of Cats as an opportunity for damage control by getting on Twitter to release a trailer for another, significantly more promising film she’s starring in. While J.Hud as Aretha Franklin is one hell of a palate cleanser, no, the winner is clearly [Judi Dench feline voice] Jason Derulo’s dick. How did Jason Derulo’s dick win such an honor? Here’s the story:

Jason Derulo, he of the velvet vocals, a man who turned pop R&B bops into classic bangers simply by singing his own name (Jaay-Sohn Deroooloh), was confident that Cats would only further his career. He, Jay-Son Derooloh, got to be Rum Tum Tugger, a fuckcat who sings all the other cats into heat and pours streams of milk down their throats, only to ditch them at their thirstiest. But there was a snag: Cats cats don’t have genitals, and his penis wouldn’t make the final cut. He couldn’t have that! Oh my God, what if people saw his CGI-smoothed cat crotchal area and thought, No bulge? Jason Derulo must have a micropeen! No ma’am, that couldn’t happen. So, Jason Derulo became his own dick’s publicist, setting out to make damn sure we knew what was actually in that bodysuit before some poor graphic artist spent hours blurring it out.

In late November, Jason Derulo became the architect of a PR campaign to rival all PR campaigns. You think Shawn Mendes’s and Camila Cabello’s tongues worked hard to convince us they liked kissing? You think Ms. Jennifer Lawrence was doing the work by face-planting and cheesesteak-eating her way into “normal girl” mythology? You think TomKat and an army of Scientologists could even come close to the advanced strategic moves necessary to pull off something like Operation DickRulo? Please.

He started early, because every good publicist knows the best strategy is to get ahead of the problem. (Recent dick drops have confirmed this. See: A$AP Rocky waking up at 5 p.m., after a mediocre sex tape had been out for hours, desperately trying to defend his reputation of “killin’ the pussy.” Rocky, get the number for Jason Derulo, penis publicist.)

Think back to a whole month ago, when, on November 21, Derulo randomly posted the mother of all thirst traps on Instagram. There he was, emerging from an infinity pool in some jungle, steam rollin’ of his skin, black spandex boxer briefs clinging to his glutes for dear life, showing off a hoagie-size dick he dubbed an “Anaconda.” At the time, it was like, “Hey, thanks!” but also, “Huh? Why?” Because up until that point, his Instagram was like outtakes from a photo shoot from a mid-tier airline magazine, not almost porn. But we all quickly adjusted to this new world in which Jason Derulo had a big dick and wasn’t afraid to show it.

Photo: Instagram

On December 4, the dick-frenzy continued when Instagram caged his Anaconda, because it violated a policy on nudity and sexual activity. This was the exact right controversy for his dick to be involved with: artistic censorship, suppression of free speech, a victim of our sexist society’s double standards. “Justice for my dick, for all dicks!” Derulo could yell like a protester on the steps of City Hall. It was also a sly way to remind us of the size of his penis. He really didn’t violate any “sexual activity policy” because he wasn’t aroused. That was barely even a semi, he protested. On that day, Derulo’s dick became a misunderstood martyr, a soldier for artistic expression.

For 12 days he rode that semi-wave. Finally, on December 16, a few days before media screenings started, a week before a wide audience would see the film en masse, Derulo’s dick launched the final phase: the sit-down interview. He went on SiriusXM’s “Radio Andy,” and revealed to Andy Cohen that he was “125 percent sure” film editors “CGI-d the dick out.” Yes, again, Cats cats don’t have genitals, and it would have been incredibly distracting to have a single cat with a huge dick, but even so, Deroulo’s penis won the sympathy vote.

So even though his Rum Tum Tugger certainly didn’t have enough tum to tug, he’s flipped the narrative now. Before, while nobody would have thought twice about his penis, now people are thinking things like: Jason Derulo’s dick? Pretty big! Wish it were in the movie? “Jaay-Sohn Deroooloh”? I’ll be singing “Jaay-Sohn Dickrooloh,” from now on.

Now, while Jason Derulo is out there defending his high-note screaming, scene-chewing part in the confusing cat orgy suicide cult that is Cats, his dick is sitting pretty. Cam Soda even offered him a $500,000 contract to produce regular meat-print thirst traps (he turned it down, holding out for a bigger fee). Frankly, if Cats has one shot at an Oscar, it’s for the Special Effects it took to obscure Derulo’s big boy in incredibly realistic cat hair. Marriage Story Oscar campaign, take notes. This is how you get your golden man statue.

Jason Derulo Is the Best Publicist for His Anaconda