Well, I did it. I gave in to the seductions of the ridiculously sexy Victoria’s Secret models who are featured in the company’s latest ad.
These pieces of marketing genius show gorgeous models in skimpy outfits in real-world situations that appeal to real moms like me. You know, like when your husband comes home and you just happen to be sprawled out on the kitchen table wearing underwear and high heels. Or when you are walking out to your veranda while your sheer robe flaps in the evening breeze? That happens to me all the time.
But those true to life scenarios aren’t what convinced me to buy the newest Victoria Secret bra: the Miraculous Push-up. It was the promise of an enhancement of two cup sizes. Two cup sizes! That’s a pretty hefty promise to a woman who has only been out of the A-range when she was pregnant and breastfeeding.
So I bought my Miraculous bra, which is actually less a bra and more incredibly durable packing material sewed into fabric. Seriously, this thing could probably stop a bullet with its inches and inches of padding and tiny little compartment for a breast. My husband decided he, too, could be at least a B-cup with the Miraculous bra’s help.
But alas, I think I have to return the bra. After some serious soul searching, I decided I’d rather have my not-so-perfect-but-all-me A-cup than what basically equates to stuffing my bra. I know it’s not real — even if no one else does — and that bothers me.
So sorry, super hot Victoria’s Secret ladies, I’m going to wear my A-cup with pride. Well, maybe not so much pride as a clear sense of resignation and acceptance that this is all I’ve got to work with.
My bra experience made me think about all the ways women (and some men) pull, suction, pad and fake their way to a perfect appearance. If it’s not padded bras, it’s Spanx that suck in your belly fat or teeth whiteners that make your smile gleam. Everywhere I look there is some new way to fake beauty, right down to the mascara I put on every morning.
And it’s nothing new – women have been fainting in their tightly wound corsets for more than a century.
So what do you think of faking beauty? What message does it send to our children? Is it OK to some degree, or is natural imperfection preferable to faked perfection?