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"Always grab the reader by the throat in the first paragraph,
sink your thumbs into his windpipe in the second, and hold him against the wall
until the tag line."
- Paul O'Neil
All Original Site Content
Copyright © 2003-2004
Phil Elmore, all rights reserved.
It’s difficult to be a Victoria’s Secret model. Your entire
day, not to mention a large part of your evening, is apparently spent striding
purposefully from one end of your penthouse apartment to another, wearing a
lace-covered push-up bra and garter belts and high heels. Industrial-sized fans
blow your hair away from and into your face as you move from room to room. I
know this is how these models live, because I watch television, and there are
many commercials depicting just this.
Women in television commercials have nothing better to do than to lounge around
spraying themselves with “body fragrances,” or throwing themselves at badly
coiffed but trendy young men who are themselves wearing the male equivalent of
those fragrances. I know, because there are people who want me to buy something
called “Axe,” and this will get me scantily clad women who spend all day wishing
I was already wearing this fragrance.
Apparently, some of the scantily clad women are even swayed by certain mints or
chewing gum or something, because the television tells me they will soon be
walking around in high heels and torso gauze if I only speak to them with my
minty fresh breath.
For whom are these commercials filmed, anyway? They’re obviously for men, not
women, I guess on the theory that it is hopeful, misguided men who – totally
ignorant of the exact sizes of their wives and girlfriends – hopefully gamble
while speaking, red-faced, to telephone operators at Victoria’s Secret. Unaware
of the fact that placing a single order will guarantee that they will be
followed by weekly catalogs for the rest of their lives and well into the lives
of their children, these men hand over sloppily wrapped packages on Valentine’s
Day and anniversaries. Those packages contain garments that have more buckles
than a straight jacket and more underwiring than a breaker box.
You see, men, you are stupid. Your beautiful wives and girlfriends know what
makes them look and feel sexy – and their choices almost always involve a lot
less structural engineering than do yours. Left to their own devices, your
significant others will choose clothing that is simple, elegant, and flattering.
They will do this because they have been buying women’s clothing all of their
lives, whereas you are a hopeless amateur at it.
Let’s keep it that way.