Dear Victoria’s Secret,
I just wanted to say thanks for making me feel like crap about my body. Thanks for leaving me high and dry in my hour of need. Thanks for refusing to acknowledge that a woman can be a woman without having disproportionately large boobs. Thanks a lot, biyotch.
Yesterday I biked to work, and as I knew would inevitably happen one day, I got to work and realized that I had left an essential piece of my wardrobe at home. That’s right. I got to work and realized I didn’t have a bra.
Now I could have just worn my sweaty tank top with built-in shelf bra under my work shirt, but that didn’t seem very comfortable. And seeing as there is a Victoria’s Secret just down the road from my office, I thought I might as well go there and grab one of your soft, comfy Ipex bras that I got online a few years ago.
The first thing I noticed while waiting for the store to open was the huge poster of the latest t-shirt bra (modeled by someone who appeared to be barely over the age of menarche). The poster clearly stated that this particular bra is available for those in a C cup and up. Hmm, what about everyone else, I wondered?
Apparently, we don’t exist.
You see, I’m an A cup, and a small enough A cup that Victoria’s Secret doesn’t even bother carrying my size in store, fo or most of their styles. I was told repeatedly that I could get the Ipex bra online in my size. Never mind that I needed one right now. It was kind of a bramergency.
The clerk ran around looking confused every time she pulled out another bra and suggested “what about something like this?” only to have me ask if they had it in my (apparently miniscule) size. Her brow would furrow and then she would say, “well this one starts at XX,” as though that would magically cause my breasts to grow. We both kept waiting for that, but it didn’t happen. I finally found one bra in the sale/out of stock bin that was my size. One.
Apparently, Victoria’s Secret can’t be bothered manufacturing and advertising bras for women like me. I know women who are solid B cups who say “well, I’m not very big,” or “I know I’m small.” Small? If you’re small I’m freakish. No. I’m small. You’re normal. You’re normal and healthy. How many women do you see out there who have those Victoria’s Secret bodies of slinky hips and thighs and enormous boobs anyway? In their natural habitat, most of those models are probably a B cup or less. (Also, I have yet to see a single acquaintance sprout wings from her back).
Now, I know there are some naturally slim-yet-buxom women out there, but let’s face it — the majority of women whose cups floweth over are also overflowing their pants and skirts, because quite frankly, the whole country is fat. The tyranny of the D cup is partly a result of our overall chubbiness. But I digress.
One could argue that I don’t really need a bra. I can get by without the support. But I did need one yesterday, since walking around without one at work would have been kind of inappropriate, not to mention yucky.
But that’s not the point. Your company made me feel like I don’t deserve one. In one fell swoop, you took away my confidence and grace and made me feel ashamed about the natural state of my genetically (un)endowed appearance. And I had the pleasure of carrying that psychological bag of feces around with me all day long.
Body image is a funny thing. So much depends on context. Take ballet. I know that many people equate ballet with willowy, half-starved women who are obsessed with being ever thinner. I do know a few women who studied ballet when they were younger who developed some serious body image issues as adults (of course, they might have had those issues anyway). But my own experience with body image and dance has been much happier. The dance studio is the place where I developed a sense of body confidence. Ballet was the first place where someone said to me “you have a beautiful chest – don’t hide it!” I have had people tell me that I have a strong body, a beautiful back, nice legs and fluid, graceful arms. The poise that I’ve developed in classes has carried over to every day life. More than once I’ve had a stranger ask me if I dance. My fellow students during my yoga teacher training days always commented on my gracefulness.
Unfortunately, people outside the dance studio are not so complimentary. I’ve had more than one woman say to me “well, you have to be curvy to wear that,” or something to that effect. Never mind that I am curvy – I have a small waist and nice hips and a nice ass. Actually, a great ass. I am hardly a waif, as evidenced by the numerous times I’ve struggled to sausage myself into a pair of straight-leg jeans.
But none of that matters today, because I’m still feeling the sting of being reduced to a letter and a number – neither of which measure up, according to you. So thanks a lot, Victoria’s Secret. You suck. I’m never buying one of your bras again. Oh that’s right – you don’t make them in my size anyway.
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