I needed some extra money over the summer, so I got a job at Victoria’s Secret. You know, because I love interacting with people so much. Before you even start working, you have to go through lingerie boot camp hell, which is their version of training. I don’t remember a lot from those days, it’s all dark in my mind, but I know that afterwards I was able to touch a bra and name the color, size, padding amount, material, collection, and “bra technology” of the bra. Hallelujah.
So I come in for my first day of work and they stick me at the Pink panties table, folding panties all day. This lady comes in with her daughter that looks like she’s 8 and asks, “Do you have children’s sizes here?” Is that a joke? I’d like to tell this woman that no, we don’t have fucking children’s sizes here this is a fucking lingerie store and you are a horrible mother but instead I say, “No, only women’s sizes.” She looks genuinely disappointed and proceeds to hold up the booty shorts in size XXS up to her daughter. Poor thing.
Later that week, an older looking woman comes up to me asking for a push up bra in size 40DD. Another joke, perhaps? I don’t know if its worse that Victoria’s Secret actually carries it or that I found this woman the very last one in stock. Apparently DD isn’t big enough for a lot of women. Or men, I should say.
I thought I was seeing the worst of Victoria’s Secret customers because I was new and wasn’t used to it yet, but they seemed to get more and more ridiculous as the summer progressed. I had a few old ladies (and I mean old) asking me for thongs. I had a woman asking me for a XXL G-string. There was the occasional bride looking for something kinky to wear on her wedding night. There were plenty of pubescent girls buying zebra-print 30AA push-up bras. You know, so they could be pushed up to 30A.
The worst part about it all is that Victoria’s Secret, as a company, tells itself that it is making women feel more beautiful. I’m actually supposed to buy that shit. Do you think Barbara over there is going to feel beautiful when she shows her foot-long G-string to her husband? Will grandma feel beautiful when she’s pulling the cookies out of the oven and her hot pink thong pops out of her granny-jeans for all of the grandkids to see? Maybe I’m off, but something tells me no.
These women aren’t buying these satin, lacy, shiny, sequined, floral, see-through, crotch-less, what-have-you products for themselves, and they do not make anyone feel more beautiful. Working at a lingerie store made me see the very worst, most self-conscious women trying their very hardest. There’s nothing wrong with a confident woman wanting to feel sexier for herself, and I wouldn’t have a problem with Victoria’s Secret if even one fourth of the customers fit that description. I saw in these women what I hate very most in myself: trying too hard for other people. Trying to be something I’m not. Trying to convince someone to stay with me. Trying to convince myself that I’m not going to do any better. Convincing myself that I’m not really good enough, and buying push-up bras and underwear with built-in wedgies (because that is really sexy) to overcompensate. Looking at myself in the mirror wearing said items and not recognizing myself.
I wish there was a way I could make every woman understand their full value and potential. I wish I could make them understand that G-strings don’t flatter anyone. Most of all, I wish that they all knew how similar they are to each other. Everyone feels so alone and ashamed, but we’re all exactly alike. I know now that I don’t need lace anything to feel good about myself. I stopped working at Victoria’s Secret because it made me feel guilty. Plus I hated folding those tacky-ass panties. And I hate calling them panties. Every now and then I notice the bullshit I bought at Victoria’s Secret sitting in my underwear drawer and while I can’t bring myself to throw it away, I haven’t put it on since I quit.
I found the tone in this piece (though very angry at times) very funny. I can certainly relate to the customer service anecdotes and the "boot camps" (and found them extra funny) because I worked at abercrombie kids this summer.
ReplyDelete"Apparently DD isn’t big enough for a lot of women. Or men, I should say."Not sure if I got the implications with this, but it could have just gone over my head. Also, watch out for swearing too much. I feel that an expletive every here and there can add humor, but too many too close together can distract from what it is you want to say.
Overall, great job. Your voice came through and you did a good job tying your summer job into something greater at the end of your piece.
Very enjoyable piece. Reads really easily. Second to last paragraph is money.
ReplyDeleteMaybe this is because I just finished reading some of "Tell it Slant", but I feel that this piece could be really effective if told in another way. The "story" itself is a great one because you had a difficult experience you learned from AND there is a cultural extension. To simply write it as you remember it makes for a very direct transfer of the information of your experience and the emotions behind it, but if you write this from the other side, that is with attention paid to narrative, we could find ourselves in Victoria's Secret with you (and i've never been!) What if you started out this piece in the store how you remember it? If it began something like "an older woman walked into the store looking for a g-string." Give us some details about the store itself. Who were your bosses? What did they say that led you to believe it was all bullshit? I want you to make me hate these people as much as you do. As a reader it's fun to come to that conclusion along with you, instead of being told "this is what they were saying, this is what they meant by it, and this is what it means in terms of our culture". You have a great angle and it seems like something you might want to continue writing about.
ReplyDeleteI like the consistent tone and the analysis. I myself have had thoughts like these, and it's refreshing to see them articulated with such fire. I wonder if the vitriol would be more effective if it was less voluminous, though, striking us on the face in certain key moments.
ReplyDelete"Lingerie Boot Camp Hell" might be a good title. Some readers might not get the sarcasm, at least initially ("You know...") This becomes a compelling critique but the ending might be too straightforward. The line about looking in the mirror and not recognizing yourself is powerful and you might be able to do more with the notion that this commercialization of beauty makes women disappear. I'm wondering if your quitting the job might be a place to look for an ending--you begin with being hired and trained--describe your last day(s). How did the guilt manifest itself? How did you give your notice? How did you see yourself on that day?
ReplyDeleteI really like how you start up the essay with a funny account of the self-conscious older women and prepubescent girls coming into Victoria's Secret to find lingerie. By the end of the piece though , you end on a very serious note by showing how their need to buy this lingerie is to satisfy someone else's need. You give a really good ending by showing that you relate to their struggle and wish they would know they do not need these things to feel beautiful.
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