Let us all take a moment to acknowledge that JT looks pretty good in a tux.

I was in the middle of a movie marathon with friends when word popped up on the Internet that Justin Timberlake would be releasing his first single in almost seven years. Excitement ran through the party as word spread from person to person. Anticipation built quite rapidly; apparently, the track would drop on his website at exactly midnight.

And so, when 12 a.m. hit, everyone in the house dropped what they were doing, gathered around a laptop and danced together when the single — the now ubiquitous funk come-on “Suit & Tie” — flowed forth like chilled champagne, even out of tinny iBook speakers.

“It’s weird,” one listener remarked. “You know? Hearing something for the first time that you know you’re going to hear a million more times.”

As my friend predicted, “Suit & Tie” is now all over radio and TV, and the album that houses it, The 20/20 Experience, is sitting comfortably at the top of the charts. Though barely a week old, the album has already been the subject of enough Internet think pieces to make Lance Bass weep with jealousy. Thanks to a post on Okayplayer by Questlove, anticipation is already high for the inevitable follow-up.

And while Timberlake deftly danced his way back into pop music, he graciously whored himself out with a smile, lending his star power to a fifth hosting gig at Saturday Night Live and just kind of hanging out on Late Night with Jimmy Fallon for a week. Over the past few weeks, perhaps even more digital ink has been spilled on Timberlake the actor: his effortless cool and willingness to mock himself. Try to imagine any other pop star gleefully bellowing “Africa” at a Jewish summer camp, or happily handing down “Maine Justice.” It’s hard to picture.

“I don’t want to be the one to alienate,” Timberlake sings on 20/20’s “Spaceship Coupe,” and whether in his music or on film, it rings true: Timberlake is universally loved by everyone, from disaffected hipsters (i.e., me) to suburban moms (just ask mine). But why?

Simply put, Timberlake is able to be all things to all people. His last LP, 2006’s FutureSex/LoveSounds went multiplatinum and — not to be hyperbolic — became a touchstone for a generation. Virginities were lost to “LoveStoned,” and “SexyBack” still probably kills at junior proms and their illicit after-parties. We grew up with Timberlake; he transitioned from boy band cheese to smooth R&B just as we moved from awkward puberty to awkward sex.

At the same time, Timberlake is safe for parents to love — sharply dressed, flanked by a big band, a conscious throwback to Frank Sinatra and Al Green. For those who still watch TV or listen to the radio, Timberlake’s all over the dial; for those of us who go straight to the Internet, he is a canny star of new media, throwing up new music and palling around with other musicians and comedians on YouTube and Twitter.

Timberlake didn’t need to release another album. He didn’t need to go back to SNL. He doesn’t need to do a stadium tour with Jay-Z. But he can. He has earned the right to do whatever he wants. Which begs the question: Was Timberlake’s week at 30 Rock a shameless promotional ploy for his new album, or an act of charity bestowed on a struggling network? In other words, did Timberlake need NBC, or did NBC need a shot of JT?

And in the end, that’s the real lesson of The 20/20 Experience. Timberlake’s appeal is varied, but it’s undeniably and inescapably universal. In a pop cultural landscape that continues to become increasingly fragmented and exclusive, it’s nice to have a unifying figure, a tuxedoed renaissance man who can make us drop everything and come together, be it to laugh, dance or make sweet, dirty love.

We’re all going to hear “Suit & Tie” a million times, but we’re going to hear it together. Justin Timberlake may not need us, but we all need JT.

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