You know, I really like Victoria's Secret bras, particularly the Wear Everywhere demis and push-ups ... so comfortable and affordable, now that I know the right size (turns out I am a C cup; bigger than I thought. Given the family I come from, all I can think is, Where did these breasts come from???)
But I digress...
What I don't like are the ads for these and other bras. I mean, come on, is it really necessary to sell bras using pouty, over-sexualized prepubescent females? Am I really going to run to my nearest VS store to buy the bras that I now need because it looks sexy on a woman? I mean, maybe if I was into women...and a pedophile, given the looks of some of these models. And VS isn't even the worse from what I've seen.
There was a time that my self-worth was tied up into how sexy men found me. If they didn't find me sexy and attractive, then ergo, I was not worthy; I was washed-up, I let myself go, I was ugly.
The ultimate sin in our society—to be ugly. Not to be stupid. Or unkind. Or stingy. Or....
And of course, who defines ugly? One person's ugly could be another person's beautiful. Why did society settle on a tall, prepubescent, blonde, white-with-blue-eyes-big-tits (but not too big) and totally flat stomach as the idea? I'm betting 99.9 percent of us do not fit this idea. Short.older.brunette.brown eyes.small boobs.a round stomach...(Although I do have blue eyes. But that doesn't negate my point.)
I could go on, but why bother?
I could say what started me on this rant was the fact I had to go out and buy bras, and by God, I don't look like the pouty model(s) staring blank-eye at me while trying to convince me to buy a bra that will make-me-two-cups-bigger! Or maybe it was the totally ridiculous perfume ads from the seventies, like the one for Love's Baby Soft that shows a Jon-Benet look-alike puckered up for the camera while clutching a teddy bear. Or perhaps it was the fact that I've finally started cleaning out my closet and was suddenly disgusted by my size-three anorexic clothes, because at one time it almost cost me my life to be that size and smaller, and what was the point of it all, anyway?
But the real truth is that I'm angry at being violated in December; angry that I can't say anything else, angry because one event has caused me to almost fall apart, to stay hidden in my house like I should be ashamed, dreading the moment when I must reveal to all the world (my world, at least) everything AND angry that I've allowed this to fester inside, while everything falls apart and my house hasn't been clean for months and ...
And the other day, my first thought was after I finish my thesis, I can go back to starving myself.
So this is for YOU—I will never go back to anorexia. Never. The.end.
(Are you happy, Dr. S? You asked me to do some personal writing, and this is what you get—a feminist rant. And I am done...for now.)