”
My relationship to gravity is permanently altered.
”
– Steven Jesse Bernstein
For Christmas, my sister got me a bra. Now most people would
think this was a weird gift. And, truthfully, I’m one of them.
Turns out, though, that Tiffany just wanted to give me the best
present ever
– the gift of uplift from her favorite bra store.
“My relationship to gravity is permanently altered.” – Steven Jesse Bernstein
For Christmas, my sister got me a bra. Now most people would think this was a weird gift. And, truthfully, I’m one of them. Turns out, though, that Tiffany just wanted to give me the best present ever – the gift of uplift from her favorite bra store.
Look, the truth is, I was quite happy shopping at discount stores, wearing whatever bra fell off the hanger and into my cart. But you know Tiffany’s gift has changed my life – or at least my profile in sweaters. And naturally, I needed more than one bra. After all, once you’ve witnessed the miracle of gravitational defiance, you want to see it over and over again. So I swallowed my fear – and, as it turned out, my sense of pride and self-worth along with a hefty portion of my checking account – and went to check out Victoria’s Secret.
The first thing I noticed was that everyone in the store was younger than me. Like a million years younger, give or take millennia or two. This depressed me more than I thought possible. The second thing I noticed was that Victoria’s bras were a lot more fancy than the ones from my local big-box store. We’re talking snakeskin, leopard prints, rhinestones, polka dots and I believe I even saw one made entirely of feathers, but my vision was starting to blur from all the brightness, so I can’t be certain.
Once I’d picked out some bras (sans rhinestones, they looked a bit painful), I went to the dressing room, only to find that there was a waiting list. Seriously. A waiting list for the dressing room. It was like trying to get past a bouncer at a celebrity nightclub. The store manager (who was all of 12, I swear to you) looked everyone up and down then asked for a name and … bra size. And you had to give it to her because when your turn came, she walked to the middle of the store and would yell something like “Fredericka! Fredericka 34B, your dressing room is ready.”
Well, look. I’m a bit shy. And old. And not so skinny. And I did not want my bra size announced to the world. So I made up one. And the soon-to-be-teenager taking names looks me up and down and says, “When were you last measured, ma’am?” Hello! What should I say to that? The truth was my last measurements took place in the year she was born. And I wasn’t not about to tell her that. But before I realize it, my mouth was open and words were coming out. And they are telling her that I was last measured when Clinton was checking out Monica’s secret.
And I kid you not, that fact was blasted across the store as the manager called over the “measurements girl.” (Really, that was what she called her; how the heck do you put that on a resume?) Anyway, measurement girl appeared and frankly, I don’t think she was old enough to need a bra yet, let alone measure me for one. But she measured me. In the store. In front of the window. And I was loudly informed that my bra size had changed. And not for the better.
As if that humiliation wasn’t enough, I was ushered into a dressing room, ordered to get topless and then a box of bras was thrust under the door for me to try on. Turns out they keep these boxes in every size and everyone gets a box to try on. Now that completely grossed me out, although I managed to comfort myself with the thought that at least I wasn’t trying on underwear. How disgusting would it be if they had boxes full of those for everyone to try on? And worse yet, how would it feel to say you wore a small, then suffer through getting measured for that? Not to mention having it announced when your turn came to get a dressing room?
I’m telling you, the possibilities for humiliation were endless, especially since I love their bras and sooner or later I’d need more. And that’s when I realized I had two weapons to use against them. A tape measure and a computer.
And you know what? That alone may be the best kept secret at Victoria’s. Assuming the box doesn’t fall apart in the mail truck, of course.
