Victoria’s Secret

Posted: February 2, 2010 by S. Trevor Swenson in Life
Tags: , , ,

Today I went to Victoria’s Secret to buy a gift card for a friend (OK…OK  a friend with benefits OK?). Inside, the store was packed full of women. Pretty women, unattractive women, young women, old women, really old women (The latter whom I didn’t want to imagine in Victoria’s Secret anything) It was a highly uncomfortable estrogen fest and was, to say the least very distressing for me.  I’m generally not the kind of guy that gets all uptight about having to go out and buy tampons or something for a girlfriend. This particular discomfort was bio-chemical. The place was packed with women as a I said and the female pheromones mixed with the putrid mélange of Vickys’ Secret perfumes, creams etc. etc. was making me feel very uneasy, vulnerable and even outnumbered. I was undoubtedly on their turf. I was an intruder in the Forbidden City.  I have seen the viciousness of groups of women first hand.  I have even tried to warn my fellow man about the dangers of approaching a ‘girl’s night out’ at the bar where I work.  These Queen Bees getting their drink on have no mercy. They want to discuss men, not to be involved in discussions with men.  They make up evil and mean spirited nicknames for any poor slob foolish enough to approach and disturb their witch’s coven with Cosmos. Listen to me and listen well young man.  If you ever see a girl’s night out, leave them alone. Do not approach. Do not send them drinks. This works for James Bond and John Stamos, it will not work for you.  Stay away, no trespassing, enter at your own risk.  The atmosphere at Vicky’s Secret was not as volatile as a girl’s night out in a bar.  There was no liquor involved and the groups were smaller.  Still, I had to be cautious.

As I was only buying a gift card I got right into the check-out line. There was never even a thought about buying actual clothes or lingerie for my special friend.  Like most men I don’t understand the numerical sizes that women use when buying clothes.  Women over a size 6 generally don’t like discussing these sizes with men or they lie, I mean take creative license.  Also most men can be counted on to find something that they would find sexy but that most women would find beneath contemplation.  The Victoria’s Secret gift card was already a gift that is for us as well as the recipient.  So, one gives the gift card, takes the hug and prays that the girl isn’t in a practical and conservative mood when she redeems it. “Oh what great baggy beige bloomers hon, Is that all you got?

While standing in line, waiting to buy the damn card and make a break for it, I was suddenly knocked aside.   A man had plowed into me while hurrying on his way out of the store. “Excuse YOU!!” I yelled after him. If we had been in a bar or on the street and he had done that, we most likely would have gotten into an argument, stare down or perhaps even a fistfight over his crashing into me without excusing himself. In this instance however, I wasn’t about to get into a physical confrontation in a crowded Victoria’s Secret.  It’s not easy looking like a tough guy wrestling around in a pile of fuchsia wonder bras and matching thongs.  I also understood his discomfort in this atmosphere.  Hell; I wanted out too, but I was on a mission, a mission I had chosen to undertake.  If I wanted to see my friend with benefits in something tantalizing, I’d have to hold on just a little bit longer.

I waited in line for what seemed to me like way too long of a time. In my case this is generally any time period exceeding 30 seconds. I have noticed that women can almost always be counted on to take longer to pay for things than men do. Being a bartender for over 10 years I am still amazed to watch women pay for their own drinks vs. having drinks bought for them by men. Women never seem to have their money or even their wallet out. They wait to be told the price and then they go digging through the bottomless pit they call a purse. When guys go out drinking it’s usually a case of “Let me get the first round”. Women pay for everything individually. Furthermore, each woman in the party has to be told the price.  While the first girl is digging through her purse, the second girl is staring blankly when she should be getting her money out. Get it together ladies.  Time is money and by my conservative calculations I figure women as a group owe me $500 in time wasted just from change purses alone. I suspect they are waiting for the French Calvin Klein underwear model; Raoul to swoop in with his platinum-ruby super-duper American Express card and say in broken English . . .”Please  allow me to buy the beautiful lady the . . . how you say . . . Cosmopolitan”

I didn’t dare vocalize my grievances. I was on their turf and outnumbered, as I said. Finally I was next in line. I asked for a gift card, wondering if I looked cheap to the cashier by buying a $50 card, paid for it in less than 30 seconds . . . .( I had my money out). Then I was handed this precious little pink bag designed by Richard Simmons to carry it in. It’s a gift card for God’s sake. Can’t I just put it in my wallet and pull it out on Christmas day, hand it over and say, ever so gently, ”Uh  here, this is for you.”  This little bag was so emasculating I’d bet male figure skaters would be embarrassed to be seen carrying one of these things. It was pink and shiny and the handles sparkled and were too small to fit my hands. I was forced to carry it daintily with two fingers and my pinky sticking out.   Maybe I should skip down Steinway Street with my little pink bag singing ‘I Feel Pretty”.  In retrospect I think now the little gift bag was a joke played on me by the girls at Victoria’s Secret.  The moment I set foot out of the store I bet they all ran to the front window to watch and cackle with laughter at my dilemma.

It occurred to me that perhaps Vicky’s Secret should have a store exclusively for men to buy stuff for their girlfriends and wives, where they could feel more comfortable. A place where men can listen to heavy metal, because “It’s not gay if AC-DC or Slayer are playing in the background”. We could have sports and action movies on the monitors rather than the waify models walking up and down a catwalk. I don’t think men even like saying “Victoria’s Secret”.  The male version will be called simply “Vic’s.” As in “Yo, honey, I gotta drop a deuce, looking for something to read, you seen my Vic’s catalogue?” Vic’s would be staffed by regular, middle aged guys with receding hairlines and beer guts . . .. swarthy Italian or Greek guys in wife beaters and jeans dragging their knuckles and breathing through their mouths.  If we needed help with anything, like size or style then Vito, Nicky or Stavros could ask us questions we’d relate to. “So, uh your wife . . . she got big tits or what”?  After of course asking the customer if they “saw the game last night.” Another man friendly sizing concept could be the “Wall-O-Breasts.”  Imagine a wall at Vic’s with hundreds of memory foam titties in every conceivable size, shape and weight, where confused men could walk up, fondle, squeeze and estimate the weight of their significant other’s special pair. Of course men have difficulty touching breasts and being able to do much of anything else, much less remember that they were there to determine a size for a purchase.  It’s just something men really feel the need to concentrate on.  So, each breast on the Wall-O-Breasts would have a sound byte that would exclaim its size with each squeeze in different female tones and accents.  “I’m a 34 C”. After three or four hours a man would be able to make an informed decision.  The Wall-O-Breasts is most likely a concept that would require a little tweaking, (no pun intended) as there would almost certainly be cretins out there who pack a lunch and spend an afternoon abusing the convenience of the Wall-O-Breasts without the intention of a purchase.  It never ceases to amaze me how a few jerks have to ruin a good thing for everyone.

The names of the various lingerie would need to change as well.  No man likes asking for a “nightie” or a “babydoll”.  We are much more adept with pointing at something and saying ”Yeah gimme the black and purple boobie thing over there, next to the anal floss.”  There should be an Irish pub next door to Vics where we can go and show our purchases to the guys while drinking beer, eating buffalo wings and grunting approval.  All of our purchases would be in see through plastic, underneath the nondescript butcher paper, because men wont see anything wrong with getting buffalo sauce or bleu cheese on the matching bra and panty set.  “She won’t notice.” we’d say as we wiped the stain in deeper with our greasy fingers.

I think this concept has some serious potential. I shall have to write up a proposal for the powers that be at Victoria’s Secret, and pray that they have a few men on the board of directors who share my pragmatic marketing strategy.

Comments
  1. Tallkronan says:

    Cute, Scott! And I do agree there is something scary about big groups of women. I’m also scared of underwearshopping. Of all kinds.
    I think I’d rather hang with you and your boys in the Greasy finger Bar!

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