Dear Victoria’s Secret,

It would seem that you still want a relationship with me. Though I have not had anything to do with you since Bikinigate 2000, your catalogs continue to arrive in the mail, and you flood my inbox with pleas for me to visit. It’s rather flattering, and I kind of admire your persistence.

And the visits! Last night during the double header of “Arrested Development,” I had 17 new chances to watch your Very Sexy® bra commercials! Which was great, because the first 5,812 times they aired didn’t really provide me with ample opportunity to catch all the nuances in your delicately crafted campaign, nor did they give me enough time to witness the wide variety of bras I could be purchasing.

Ha ha, I kid! Which leads me to the reason for this letter. I still do kind of like you in theory, but before we can embark on a new journey together, there are a couple of things that I’m going to need from you.

First of all, I know that you pride yourself on having lovely models. You must spend a great deal of time and money getting women who can perfect those catatonic, “I’ve just been slipped a roofie” bedroom eyes, and I respect that. However, did you know that for the past five years, every single one of your bras has looked exactly the same? True story!

You undoubtedly work long, hard hours, and probably just got confused – totally understandable! However, those wings that the models sometimes wear? They’re for effect, not actually part of the product, and therefore don’t count. And the 12-inch stiletto heels certainly give me good ideas for the nights when I really want to look like a Vegas hooker – thanks! – but, you see, the commercials are for the bras.

I think maybe I know what happened. In all the hubbub of marketing your wares, you forgot to actually make the wares! So, much like a 21st century Scarlett O’Hara, you resourceful VS folks looked around and made do with what you had. Plain, cotton underwear, as far as the eye could see, for miles and miles in your warehouses. Some RIT dye, a little dim lighting, and voila! You’ve got yourself a product!

Which is great. I know that what really matters is showcasing airbrushed ribs, scapulas, and hipbones to their fullest advantage. After all, if a supermodel isn’t bent at an unnatural angle while making her most convincing “I like sex! No, really. It…doesn’t take…too much…energy…” face, how in the world am I supposed to know if the underwear is any good?

So you’ve got the sex appeal thing down. Awesome. All I’m suggesting is that, since I can’t actually buy Gisele and the gang, you could maybe put lingerie on them that’s somewhat interesting. Perhaps a decoration on a bra here, some lace on the underpants there? You know, something besides just plain material, because much as I do love spending a quarter of my paycheck on a pair of cotton panties, now and then it might be a kick if my purchase was half as cute as the pink-and-white-striped bag that holds it. Just a thought.

Oh! Oh. All right, my second suggestion is probably going to sound a bit CRAZY, but just go with it for a minute. Now, you are aware that breasts exist. I know this because almost every bra that you make “creates cleavage,” which is Victoria’s Secret code for “Your boobs will look big!” Fine, that’s all well and good. However, what about those of us who don’t need any help from the Breast Fairy, but would still like to wear something that doesn’t resemble a king-size training bra? We are out there, you know!

And don’t try to mollify me by pointing out your “full-figured” page. It was bad enough when you had Tyra Banks and Laetitia Casta, but I don’t know WHO the hell you think you’re kidding nowadays with those toothpick blondes you have up there. “Full figures,” I mean, what kind of eating disorders are you trying to instill in people? But that is another topic for another day. My point now is that if you’re going to ignore my lingerie needs just because I have the breasts you purportedly advocate, I don’t want the same models who fit into the A-C stuff that fills up 99% of your catalog! I want big-breasted women in DD cups! You don’t have to go crazy and get a model with hips or anything, but bring on the boobs!

But that won’t happen, and you know why? Because you lie. Like an insane person, I’ve bought more than one of your bras, and they just sit in my dresser at home because I cannot wear them out of the house if I need to do any sort of strenuous activity such as…walk, or…brush my hair…without popping out of one of your “full-figured” bras, which, by the way, are padded, and why? WHY! Don’t give me pads; and don’t charge me more for a bigger size when not only do you not give me enough material to cover myself, but you don’t even have to spend any extra money for “scientific advancements” to create miracles, or wonders, or whatever you have trademarked, in order to give me a fake chest! I don’t need that crap! All I want is a pretty bra, and possibly even a two-piece bathingsuit which, if I order for 80 dollars because I need to go to a work pool party and hey it comes in my size, I can actually wear and not crumple up and then cry because it makes me look like a floral-patterned prostitute. And don’t EVEN get me started on your “built-in bra” shirts. True, there are elements of “bra” and “shirt” within the garment, but the whole doesn’t quite equal the sum of the parts, at least not in polite society.

See, this is why we broke up. I have needs, but you don’t give a damn. Because you don’t want me. You want women who are white, bored, bony, breastless, and assless. I meet just one of those qualifications, and have absolutely no intention of meeting any more. So go ahead – keep playing with your paper dolls on the black runway set you love so much. I’ll be over at Frederick’s.

Goodbye Forever,
Judi

© November 8, 2005