I blame Victoria’s Secret for all of my problems. All of them. Financial. Emotional. Personal. All of them. Name a problem. It’s Victoria’s Secret’s fault. (Victoria’s Secret’s? That looks so weird, but I’m pretty sure that’s the correct way to write that. GRAMMATICAL PROBLEMS, SEE? Ughh)
Victoria’s Secret completely dominates the lingerie market. They have made the bra and panties business their bitch. And by extension, they have made women (and men idk) that shop there their bitch. My name is Hillary Scales and I am Victoria’s Secret’s bitch.
I tried to boycott. I said to myself, Ya know what? Screw you, Victoria! I’m going to Belk! And then Victoria laughed in my face, for two reasons:
1. Belk (and really any other department store) caters to two types of people: The Mommy Who is Too Tired to Care Anymore and The Girl Who is Buying Her First Bra. You want to pick up the dowdiest bra you can find in the most uncomfortable material you’ve ever let touch your skin? Belk’s your place. Do you wear a 32AAAAAA and love polka dots and starzzz? You’ll love Belk.
2. There are only two price and quality ranges: The $14.99 polyester blend that doesn’t really fit quite right and The bajillion dollar silk bralette, hand woven by small Bangladeshian children.
I was basically left to decide how much my breasts are worth to me. “Don’t make me go back into the Maidenform!” they shouted. “It’s itchy and we can’t breathe!!!”
Fine, I’ll go to that place which shall not be named. And the second I walk in, I become all wide-eyed like Charlie in the Chocolate Factory or something. I brush my hands across the ruffles and lace and oh! Is that a French maid outfit? Might need one of those. But no, I remember what I came here for. Eye on the prize. (HAHA @ a French maid outfit, though. “Oooh baby, your place is soooo dirty. How bout I slip into something a little more comforable so I can clean it. Ohhhh baby. You like it when I clean, don’t you? Sooo dirty, baby.”)
But then I get distracted again by this corner that has me contemplating the purchase of a bright purple lace bra covered in sequins, and full of about two inches of padding. I don’t need any of that. I don’t even want any of that. But something about this store makes me think that I do. What kind of mindfuckery is going on, here? I need answers! I completely lose all sense of self in this hot pink wonderland. Even in the checkout line I’m thinking that I should probably buy this lip gloss for $15 even though lip gloss is so sticky and feels weird and I hate it. Ooh look at this glittery body spray stuff! But this is not middle school. Step away from the glitter.
Anyway, I end up buying more than I need to, thus spending more money than I need to, but whatever ’cause look how awesome my boobs look! Yay!
You win, Vicky. You make me feel like a Dream Angel and I like it.