Lori Anderson: Pan's pipes sound for Granite City's beautiful people

STUMBLING through the Stygian gloom, deafened by The Killers murdering my eardrums at 80 decibels, I bypass half naked boys, scantily clad girls and wonder when a dirty Martini will be placed in my hand and whether or not I'll have the chance to chat to Hugh Hefner.

Oh, but wait, I'm not at the Playboy mansion, but in a, er, shop. And no, it's not in Soho and another of its kin will, in fact, be opening in prim and staid Aberdeen later this month.

Lift up your pom-poms and cheer for H-O-L-L-I-S-T-E-R. Napoleon may have called Britain a nation of shopkeepers, but we have never raised our shutters on such a paradigm of beauty and sensuality as devised by the geniuses behind its parent company, Abercrombie & Fitch. Don't shudder, I know you want to, having heard about the company's discriminatory practices: uglies need not apply and their fondness for the ubermensch, SoCal blond hair and blue-eyed surfer look.

While Hollister is aimed at the 14-24 market, it still comes imbued with the elitist philosophy of its paterfamilias. The recent adverts cited "good-looking staff wanted". The current chief executive, Mike Jeffries, walks it like he talks it, he is 65, with what looks like dyed blond hair, a facelift and lips which appear to this observer's eye to be plumped to the dimensions of a Hollywood film star.

As he explained: "We hire good-looking people in our stores. Because good-looking people attract other good-looking people, and we want to market to cool, good-looking people. We don't market to anyone other than that."

But trust me, North-east Scotland is a long way from Hermosa Beach. The Mamas and Papas may have sung "California dreamin' on a winter's day" but pity the poor pasty souls of Aberdeen who score the hot model jobs at this new landmark store, for they will surely have to "git nekkid" or, for the gents at least, topless in a sleet storm.

I must admit I've a sneaking regard for Mr Jeffries' unashamed elitism. I like a man who keeps me on my toes and, in today's homogenised politically correct world where everyone is "equal", he shines out like the pole star urging us all to embrace California's holy trinity of body, body and, um, body.

Many of our teenagers are raddled with e-numbers and have Irn-Bru for blood, so why not give them something to aspire too; a wholesome fit body, eloquent manner and the taste of the southern California lifestyle. The requirement of a six-pack to be one of the "models" at the front of the store requires a dedication to health, fitness and diet – surely something the Scottish Government should get behind.

Yet there is a shadow to this sunshine store. Sex is the drizzled body oil that lubricates the machine that is Abercrombie & Fitch and Hollister, for as the old adage says: sex sells. The question is: does A&F go over the top in a manner that fetishises the young while appealing to the prurient nature of those now old enough to know better?

There is certainly plenty of evidence for the prosecution. Exhibit one would be the A&F quarterly, a curious glossy publication designed to promote the brand, featuring nude photos of youths taken by the fashion photographer Bruce Weber, which has been repeatedly condemned for its sexually explicit nature. So shrill were the demands of religious organisations and women's rights groups that the catalogue was finally removed from the store.

Exhibit two would be the line of thong underwear sold at Abercrombie Kids with phrases such as "Eye Candy" and "Wink Wink", which was removed in 2002. Exhibit three: the girl T-shirts that read: "Who needs brains when you have these?" and "I had a nightmare I was a brunette", which sparked a "girlcott" until they too were pulled. The problem is such boycotts simply promote the brand which each year rolls out a new collection of humorous T-shirts such as last year's "Female streaking encouraged" and "Show the twins".

So inflammatory have A&F's cut-off shorts become in certain quarters that the entire line is banned at Bob Jones University and other Christian schools because of "an unusual degree of antagonism to the name of Christ and an unusual display of wickedness" found in the firm's advertising material. But, then again, Bob Jones University banned couples from holding hands. Do we really want to live in its chaste universe?

Perhaps more seriously was the response, in 2008, when a children's hospital in Ohio agreed to retitle its site "the Abercrombie & Fitch Emergency Department and Trauma Centre" for a $10million donation. The Campaign for a Commercial Free Childhood organised a letter, signed by more than 100 doctors and child advocacy groups, hitting out at the decision on account of the "company's appalling history of targeting children with sexualised marketing and clothing".

Yet what about the firm's obsession with looks? Surely it is hard enough to be a teenager today without being rejected for a Saturday job on account of your less than straight teeth and spotty rather than porcelain skin? There is, in fact, a strong argument that in such times when eating disorders and body dysmorphia among teenagers is on the rise, that it is actually irresponsible for such a leading company to value looks above ability. Of course, the company would argue it seeks both, but anyone who has asked for assistance from one of the tanned Adonises who dance around their LA stores would claim beauty clearly trumps brains.

Then again, so what? While adults may fret about the inequality of looks, teenagers, more than any age group, appreciate their importance. So when Hollister opens in Union Square and the music begins thumping out at a mandatory minimum of 80 decibels, they will be drawn in by the hot "dudes" and smokin' "bettys" and snap up the hip apparel. For as every teenager knows, and Abercrombie & Fitch skilfully exploits, image is all.

Kalos kai agathos infers a link between beauty and goodness, and Mike Jeffries is simply the new Pan using this ancient Greek maxim to draw youth to his stores.