Sometime in the past few days, the Victoria's Secret fashion show was filmed. I know this because every American media outlet under the sun has been broadcasting backstage photos of Candace Swanpoel* in a push-up bra.
*I am relatively sure this is an incorrect spelling of
her last name, but I couldn't deal with googling it to find out and
being inundated with photos of her in underwear.
dread this show every year. No one is forcing me to watch it, but it's
like a train wreck (if train wrecks wore a 36DD and had a 25-inch
waist): I cannot look away. And for good measure, VS always makes sure
the show includes a model who's given birth in the past four months
to make those of us who are 19-months postpartum feel especially
Note: I love it when the models claim the
weight fell off by breastfeeding because they think the 100,000 other
women who gave birth this past year are stupid enough to buy it. I have
breastfed two babies. In fact, the youngest is only just wrapping up
now. Nursing means babies drink milk your body produces. They are not
tiny little liposuction machines that suck fat from your midsection to
reveal six-pack abs underneath (unless a liposuction machine also pukes
in your hair).
Without a doubt, my absolute favorite part
of the annual broadcast is the cautionary message claiming that watching Gisele
Bundchen parade around in a g-string may be harmful to my child. I think
they should consider adding the following message this year:
The following broadcast may be detrimental to the emotional and mental
well-being of any woman who has had children or likes ice cream.
Self-loathing may occur. Husband/partner discretion is strongly advised.
really want to try to sell the average woman on the
Incredible bra collection, when in reality, the only incredible part is
that I can pay $60 for a bra for the sole purpose of looking nothing
like Miranda Kerr in it. I have never been able to determine if the
target audience of this show is actually the women who will be wearing
the lingerie or the men who want to pretend their girlfriends or wives
could really look like this in a push-up:
If it's my
girlfriends and I you want to attract VS, I propose death cage matches
featuring the Angels fighting over a brownie and a sugary cocktail. We
would come out in spades to see that.
It seems my goal
of strutting my stuff on network television in lingerie will have to
wait another year. Since I don't have the abs or the bank account of an
angel, this year I'll watch the show and mercilessly taunt the screen
with the one thing I have that they don't: cookies.