Last night I watched the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show. Well, I watched as much of it as I could before my dog went ape shit over the feather and wing creations and I had to turn it off. This happens 100% of the time something resembles an animal on TV. I have come to the sad realization that my children will never be able to watch the Little Mermaid or Homeward Bound, lest Rosie go barking ballistic on them and ruin their childhoods.
I couldn't help but wonder during this "fashion show": What, pray tell, is the point? Besides the obvious: Making women feel bad about their normal bodies and giving men totally unrealistic expectations about how much space can truly exist between a woman's thighs.
The models don't actually wear normal things you can buy in the store. Thereby negating any logical reason I can see for this to be considering marketing for the Victoria's Secret brand. If I was on the market for a $10,000,000 bra, sure this would be the perfect venue for me to see what's out there. But the average viewer is probably sitting on her couch with in $20 sweat pants with the word PINK on her butt, with her husband- mouth agape. Not your target market for 8-figure bedazzled bras and crotchless panties paired with angel wings. But that's just my humble opinion.
As I was flipping back between the Victoria's Secret show and the American Country Awards, which even the hosts seemed to understand isn't a real award show, I couldn't help but think of my dead ancestors. If they just happened to be revived and caught a glimpse of these two shows at once, they would probably think the world had, indeed, come to an end. Either that or look both ways to see if anyone is looking, pull an Irish exit, and head on back to the ground from whence they came.
Basically last night was a stupid night for America. A hot, sexy, honky tonkin', stupid night.
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