I won’t tell if you won’t

So, when I was a teenager I had a recurring nightmare, and I’ll go out on a limb and suggest more than one of you had the same, dread-filled dream. You know the dream when you are sitting on a bus or in a meeting room or in a classroom or walking along the street and you look down and realize you’re naked? Or, at the very least, you’re in public wearing only your skivvies. Yup. I had the dream many, many times. In my dream, I’d beg people not to look at me, and desperately try to find something to cover my body. I always woke up in a total sweat and then spent the rest of the day in a weird funk. The dream usually manifested itself if I had a bit of stress going on in my life. It was as if my brain was saying to me, “Well, if you think the math final is going to be stressful, just look down and see what you’re wearing”. Hokey Dinah.

As I get older and have fewer stresses in my life, such as work deadlines or final exams, I have noticed a dramatic decrease in the number of re-runs of The Dream. Until? Well, until the AdditionElle models started strutting their stuff in television commercials. Their model faces are filled with confidence as they horsy-prance along some packed city street, with handsome men in their wake. For me, the commercial brings back all of those vulnerable-in-public nightmares. The moment the model’s trench coat flies open to reveal lacy knickers and diaphanous bras, my palms get sweaty and my head gets a bit light and achy, and fear boils up in my veins. I feel a waking dread coming on. Who the H E double clasps at the back of those double D bra straps could possibly think this is a good way to market ladies’ fine delicates? Marketing people, is that supposed to be sexy, because it scares the crap outta me, and the last thing you’d want me, or any of your customers to do, is crap in those lacy, sexy AdditionElle undies. I guess that must be part of the intended allure—edgy, secretagent- dangerous, sexy. Is it supposed to fill women with a bravery and derring-do in the face of those preconceived notions of plussized models wearing lacy, skimpy undies? Your commercial just makes me curl up in a ball of angst.

And, while I’m on the topic of undies, what about those Victoria’s Secret advertisements. If it’s Victoria’s secret, why do we have to see it on television? Why isn’t it a secret? Seriously, not one of the women I hang around with would buy anything from your lines—your icy winter line, flowery spring line, hot summer line or cool fall line. Most women aren’t stupid. Why would we spend 75 bucks on a rhinestone encrusted bra with matching panties, if we’re just going to keep them secret under our jeans and sweatshirts. And, we’d be pretty stupid if we didn’t know the scrawny, bony girls strutting their stuff on camera don’t look anything like real women. At least they don’t look like any of the real women I know. There is no way a car-payment’s worth of underwear is going to make this old babe look like the gals in the commercials. I need support in my undies, death-defying support, no secrets. Victoria, you and your models certainly don’t look like me. Who the H E double A’s, are these commercials really for anyway? Most of the significant others I’ve observed while they’re watching your commercials are more interested in the secrets than the target audience. Victoria’s Secret, give me a call when you’ve got a “great big secret” line of underwear that doesn’t have special care instructions. You know the kind. They can survive two rounds of the normal cycle on my washer, and don’t look like they need a holiday after wrestling with the gym clothes in the dryer. Ya, that’s the ticket.

theresa@wellingtontimes.ca