The Automatik

I went to the mall last night. I swear, I think someone gave me the brown acid. And I’ve never taken hallucinogens. There were more freaks on parade than I can address in one sitting: the metrosexual tweens, the faux-Hilton sisters, the doughy white woman trying to impress her younger black co-worker by discussing Bernie Mac and Michael Jordan, the two hip-hop guys in matching brightly colored Disney character baseball jerseys, and many more.

The most frightening aspect of this particular mall is actually not the ever-fascinating posse of weirdoes posing as “normal” suburbanites, it’s the fact that there is practically an entire wing of the place devoted to what I have dubbed “The Victoria’s Secret Complex.” It’s about the size of Luxembourg, or roughly speaking, the entire cosmetics area of most major department stores.

The massive entrance is flanked by shelves stacked with the plastic, pouting bodies of mannequins whored up in their finest Merry Widows, thigh high fishnets and strappy high-heeled sandals. Not standing, hips cocked and ready, but lying down on their sides, appearing only slightly less obscene than the synthetic gams that lewdly swing from the window of Big Daddy’s, one of the oldest titty bars on Bourbon Street. Throw a few mattresses in there and you’ve got yourself a simulated sex show.

The center of the lobby is filled with high-end makeup like Nars, because of course, to properly wear lingerie; one must also wear lipstick, blush, and mascara. And honestly, we females are so weak and desperate for approval, how could we not be drawn to fifty different shades of foundationwhen it’s just sitting there, begging to be coveted?

Ahem.

Victoria’s Secret’s latest unveiling is known as THE IPEX BRA, which a woman with a bad British accent tells us, is revolutionary technology, years in development. Is it leftover science that NASA wasn’t using? Was it a byproduct of cold fusion experiments? Does it walk, talk, and even cut through metal?

The commercials show supermodel Gisele Bundchen standing on a platform, legs akimbo and arms outstretched to the heavens, where bright lights shine down and around her, maximizing (of course) the sheen of her supple supermodel skin. Maybe THE IPEX BRA was not created by scientists, but by GOD HIMSELF! And God said let boobs be supported by advanced technology. And it was good. Let us all be grateful that he did not drag out that old chestnut, the burning bush.

I suppose I should be candid and admit that yes, I have what is known in common parlance as “a problem” with Victoria’s Secret. I have a problem with being told I should buy this thong or that camisole top because Gisele Bundchen is voluptuous at 105 pounds, that she gives Leonardo Di Caprio blow jobs, and if I just spend a disgustingly frivolous amount of money at Victoria’s Secret, I could be as sexy as everyone thinks she is! Ohmigod!

I have a problem with this also because Victoria’s Secret underwear is crap. It’s not worth the money you pay for it. The women who model it make so much money, I’m quite certain they buy stuff that costs even more, but is possibly of much higher quality. I think.

I have a problem with this because this type of fraud is perpetrated on women who already have enough troubles being told they’re jealous when they express disgust in males drooling over the Victoria’s Secret catalog they swiped from their wives and girlfriends. It’s not just Victoria’s Secret, either. Even JC Penney’s now has underwear kiosks topped off by the lower torsos of mannequins wearing g-strings. Do I really need to see bare ass cheeks made out of polyester satin? We’re inundated with hateful imagery from major fashion magazines, US Weekly, and VH1′s “The 100 Hottest Bodies in Hollywood” specials. Underwear is something that we actually do need, so must we prostitute it to the same wicked industry that essentially put Terri Schiavo in a coma?

Here it comes, people. Why isn’t the “Culture of Life” cult out protesting the ridiculous standards of female beauty that led Terri Schiavo and countless others to binge and purge their way to sickness, misery, and death? Why do they have to bring God into it? Sure He created the world in six days, and after His seventh day of rest, He created underwire bras, but does He understand what we females endure every time we look in the mirror of a dressing room stall?

The evil is not the liberals or the Communists or the “homosexual marriages created out of thin air”*, it’s the institutionalized misogyny of the fashion industry. Say what you will about the recently departed Pope, at least by living his entire adult life as the head of the Catholic Church, he never had to worry about cellulite. Now who’s bringing God into it?

I confess I’ve been dreading the inevitable news piece finding universal truths in Terri Schaivo’s life and death and that of Pope John Paul II. And now I’ve gone and done it myself. But at least it was on my own terms.

*This is an actual quote from Schiavo family spokesperson Terry Randall when discussing how the Culture of Life is fighting against everything that’s wrong with this country, including the removal of Terri Schiavo’s feeding tube and legal abortions.