Victoria’s Secret Show

 

The truth is, it’s super hard to articulate my feelings about the Victoria Secret Fashion Show without sounding like a bitter, diabetic, troll. In theory (and some people’s reality) the opportunity to even aesthetically qualify to strut down a runway in a jewel encrusted vagina cloth with a bouncy blowdry and a 2 foot long thigh gap is super flattering. God knows, no one is asking me. But we all have to recognize that women gathering around the television to watch these female specimens in a fashion show (where you can’t actually purchase the “fashions”) is ridiculous.

Firstly, everyone calm the fuck down. This isn’t going to be some proclamation of feminism just stating the obvious. My absolute favorite part of watching the Victoria’s Secret Show is watching the behind the scene clips of the models being “so goofy and relatable”. Supermodels, they’re just like us. Except better looking and hungry. Taking selfies, lip syncing, being bff with all the other models. I wan’t just one supermodel to look into camera and say “I love cocaine, hate everyone here, have only eaten ice chips and an occasional Splenda packet #cheatday, fuck off.” But NO! Being an angel is all giggles, cheap body spray, glitter and acrylic underwear.

When the angels are not prancing around in pink robes and dancing backstage, they are also getting supes sentimental. Martin Luther King had a dream… and so did Kendall Jenner and Gigi Hadid. Even if being a supermodel is your “lifelong dream” how can anyone even rationalize saying that out loud. My dream is to have like 18 houses, more jewelry than Jaja Gibore and bi-quarterly tapeworm so I can stay thin sans exercise but for social decency sake, I am not going to fucking admit that. I’d make some shit up like “I just want to be a strong voice for my generation” or like “help needy children and rescue stray cats in Somalia”. No thanks. Just lie.

My second favorite thing about the VS Fashion Show is the obvious angels that were simply hired to comply with some racial quota. Like the overly spirited Asian girl who never quite nailed her end of the runway pose. Are you winking, are you kissy facing, having a cerebral palsy situation? Poor girl. I am going to go on a limb and assume that 43% of these bitches don’t even speak English.  So you really can’t blame the girls for awkwardly lip syncing to all the performers music. They could be singing Hitler’s manifesto and they would have no fucking idea because they are just PeRkY aS fUcK.

The 24 hours after the show is what I like to refer to as Basic Bitch Dooms Day. Everyone complains how they never want to eat again, vow to get an ass like Adriana Lima or celebrate their “normalness” by posting pictures of themselves eating a pizza in rebellion. This is fucking stupid. Shut the fuck up. I get the attempt at irony but it’s as sad and redundant. 

Also, poor Ellie Goulding, here she is fully clothed singing her little heart out and is background blur to some Scandinavian amazon with big pink balloons taped to her ass slow-mo blowing kisses to a camera man with a boner. Granted, I would sell my sister to a brothel for abs like Behati Prinsloo but like… it’s just never going to happen and I am okay with that. These woman are obviously beautiful and I live for embellishment so I get the allure, but let’s all live and let live.

Whatever your feelings are post-show just remember that we live in a world where Facetune is $1.99, Spanx are crotchless, lighting is everything and Victoria’s lingerie is made of fucking polyester… that bitch.

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6 comments

  1. It was so hard to watch! Romanticizing Victoria Secret rendezvous in thousand dollar panties and a 12 pound bra. The torture of beauty.

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