I stopped shopping at Victoria’s Secret in 2008, when I walked into the Georgetown location and saw two girls, who weren’t yet old enough to drive, talking about whether their boyfriends would like the pink and black bras better than the leopard print ones. At that moment, I decided to upgrade to Coup de Foudre in Penn Quarter, because I had clearly exceeded some kind of unposted age limit. Then, last week, I swung by their Pentagon City location to give the Bombshell bra that I’ve heard other bloggers raving about a try.
What a mistake.
First off, let’s talk about color. If I had wanted zebra print with red lace trim, they had it. Lime green with hot pink polka-dots? They had that too. And if I needed bright aqua, harlot red, neon yellow or gingham check, I was covered. But nude, black or white? That was going to take the stockgirl 40 minutes and a bloodhound to track down.
After they finally found my color, I went into the dressing room to try the bra on and discovered that the Bombshell bra (which promises to double your cup size) has a flat wall of stiff padding where the cups would normally be. So the bra doesn’t so much lift you, as it squishes your girls until they pour out the top like prisoners escaping from a trash compactor. This prompted two thoughts:
2) Who are they kidding?
This bra crosses the line between pushing up the breasts so that they look awesome, and engaging in blatant, mind-blowingly obvious fraud. Seriously, this bra is false advertising at its most egregious.
Were you to try to hug your date, it would feel like there was couch cushion between you. And were the date to go well enough that the bra would be shed later on, your date would be wondering where your breasts went and how they deflated so quickly.
Victoria’s Secret made push-up bras and sexy lingerie available to the masses. Hell, I’m so old that I remember when VS was delivered in a non-descript box, sans company logo because it was considered vulgar, and you didn’t want the postman to know that you were receiving black, lacy things in the mail. But while the chain was once groundbreaking, the products that they are hocking now are just ridiculous.
VS has become a caricature of its glory days. The colors and patterns they sell are garish, unflattering and clearly designed by color blind Oompa Loompas. Their products have substantially decreased in quality, and the taste level has vanished along with the high-waisted Granny panties they once sold. In 2011, they stay in business by selling PINK track pants, treacly sweet perfumes and neon lime thongs to teenagers.
I don’t care to know what Victoria’s Secret is. But frankly, judging from the wares she’s currently selling, I wouldn’t be surprised if the big mystery is that Victoria is an overly-tanned, 55-year-old drag queen from New Jersey who drinks Mad Dog 20-20 and smokes Kools.
At 29, I am simply too old to sort through drawer after drawer of infantile prints searching for a non-existent nude bra that I can wear to work. I am obviously not the chain’s customer base, and watching teenage girls shop for trashy underpinnings in the sale bin is not my idea of a good time. So you won’t be seeing any pink striped shopping bags among my purchases any time soon.