I just checked my Facebook feed and was reminded that the annual Victoria’s Secret fashion show is airing in about an hour. Although it’s not usually a special I’m just dying to see, I briefly considered staying up past my usual 9:00 p.m. to watch it.
Seriously. Why in the world would I want to watch super-skinny Angels strut across the stage to Justin Bieber (Beiber, Beber, Biber, Beaver)?
If there is one tiny, insignificant thing Cody does that really unsettles me, it’s playing video games. Actually, only one video game. Halo 3, Reach, 4. It’s sad that I even know the names. Specifically because I do not like the concept of someone preferring unreality to reality. But, deep down, that’s the exact same reason I’m inclined to watch the Victoria Secret fashion show.
I’m precisely five feet tall. Never, ever, under any circumstances will I ever look remotely similar to a lingerie model. Not only that, but never ever will I ever be involved in an event that is centered around my assets (physical or otherwise); nor will I experience the thrill of wearing exotic garments, donning elaborate make-up, or being doted upon like a fragile piece of artwork.
This is more than modesty. More than the fact that countless twelve-year-old boys will be sneaking into their rooms to do “homework.” More than the fact that millions of young girls will have the same feelings of inadequacy as I would (will?) when watching such a show without the intellectual maturity to understand that the women on the screen, bless their hearts, represent almost impossible aspirations. More than the fact that husbands will watch the show, look at their lovely wives, then sadly sigh in disappointment.
All those things are very important. Even more important than this post. But, the point I would like to make tonight is that, just like Halo 4, the VS Fashion Show aired on primetime on a Tuesday night is yet another tool that’s being used to create a universal discontent with reality. Their skin, hair, size, shape, it’s all an illusion to create a “better” version of the life we really live. Spectacular isn’t always best. Heart-pounding, controller-rumbling, screaming-at-the-Xbox battles shouldn’t be the highlight of my husband’s day any more than imaging a more glamourous and beautiful lifestyle via a tv show, Pinterest, or magazine should be for me.
Don’t get me wrong. A free coupon for a seamless panty will entice me into the Angels’ lair as quickly as any other girl. But, in general, Victoria’s Secret makes me mad. Mad at my body, mad at my closet full of thrift store clothes, mad at my husband for not following me around with his eyes popped out of his head. None of those things are good. None of those things are healthy…
My Fruit of the Looms need folding anyways.