Open Letter

Dear Victoria’s Secret,

For many years now, you’ve been a ubiquitous part of the culture here in America. Like it or not, your stores are in every mall & your ads are on every TV. I understand that. I don’t like it, but I get it.

Here’s where my problem begins. I got this ad in the  mail with a coupon promoting your new ridiculous boobilicious show-off pulley system. Now, even if I WAS interested in your overpriced underpants, I’d be out of luck because YOU DON’T SELL BRAS IN MY SIZE. Which means I don’t now, nor have I ever in the past 20 years, bought anything from your store. Ever. And, building on that fact, I certainly, by no stretch of the imagination, would have any need or desire to make myself 2 cup sizes bigger. Because that would not only be horrific, unattractive and not safe for brains, it would probably blind me.

It’s bad enough that I have to look at the breasts of your models every 30 minutes on my television and see your in-store ad sheets blown up to 300% life size, screaming, “OMGBOOBS!!!!!!!!” at the top of their lungs every time I’m in the mall. I do not look like your models. I will never look like your models. I do not want to have this fact smacking me in the face any more than it already does. Just as I’d be peeved if I was receiving catalogs for Lamborghini or yachts or big huge diamonds or mansions or anything else that I couldn’t possibly buy. Leave me alone and stop shoving all your boobs in my face. All the time. Put on a sweater.

I wish nothing bad on anyone who works for you who’s a human being. But your stores, your corporate offices and all of your inventory? Can die in a fire.

All my love,

Christy