Vicki’s
Victoria Secretions
Vicki Shush
Vicki Hush Hush
Whatever nickname you gave it, there’s no denying the power Victoria’s Secret once held over us in the 1990s to early 2000s. My friend M and I were discussing the need for more regular, every day panties of quality, and we started reminiscing about the VS of old. The 5 for $20, then 5 for $25 cotton bikinis that felt better than your Wal-Mart or Target panties. There was the thrill of buying a matching set of body wash, lotion, and mist then using the very pink, very noticeable bag to bring your lunch to school so everyone would know you shopped at a sexy place. Let them think you were wearing a Miracle Bra under your bodysuit and oversized flannel. You and your Pear Glacé knew the truth.
By the time I got to a point where I needed to add a bra to my underwear needs, there was no such thing as matching. It was “a black bra goes with everything.” Training bras (do we still call them that?) were black, beige, white… and itchy. My first one seemed to be modeled after a bullet bra from the 1950s. I hated the feel and design of it, but loved the symbolism. My little buds were sprouting! I’ve always been a late bloomer. Maybe this uncomfortable contraption meant I was finally catching up with my friends. (I never did. They were already in C cups, something I didn’t hit until my 30s).
As my boobs moved from puffy nipples to A cup to the mouthfuls of B, I wanted something more than serviceable black, beige, and white. I wanted red, blue, pink, floral, polka dots, all the colors and patterns found in the Victoria’s Secret Catalog. The catalog was $5 and always positioned at the front of the counter in the store. I would have exactly enough to partake in the body fragrance sales and shake my head at the up-sale attempt to include the pages full of skinny white women. Then one day, I had a boyfriend who felt like showing off.
They say malls are dying now but many moons ago, when you were a teen and had limited options of where to go on dates, you and your boo would go to the mall, walk around with your hands in each other’s pockets and kiss by the light of Sbarro. You’d go into Foot Locker for him, RAVE for her, and Victoria’s Secret for both of you.
TomatoHead (my mother’s nickname for him) liked to be cakey. That is, he liked to have money and spend it lavishly, especially on his girl, so after he gave his mom some of his Mrs. Winner’s check, he would take me to the mall and we’d eventually giggle in Victoria’s Secret. I had gathered up all my matching Love Spell materials (his favorite), and when the cashier asked if I wanted the catalog, he wordlessly pulled it out of its stand and let her ring it up. (I probably did all kinds of things to his peter in the car later that night in the park. Ah, youth).
I eventually subscribed to the catalog. Each time it arrived, my mom would say “Now whose is this?!” My name was clearly on the mailing label, but I’d have to wait for her to thumb through it before I got it. And when I did, oh man. I was circling things and tabbing pages. The models would be posed in lavish suites or on beautiful cliffs and I’d long to travel to wherever they were. I fantasized about buying their swimsuits for luxurious vacations. The models themselves were not a diverse bunch, but the underwear! Excuse me– lingerie! Purples with names like aubergine and mulberry. Blues that were electric or royal. Pinks from fuchsia to baby. Brick, fire, sunset reds.
By this point, I was 16. I’d been reading romance novels for half my life. I’d seen a few Emmanuelles, squinted through the scrambles of late night Cinemax, sneaked in my father’s collections of Black Tail, Penthouse, and Playboy, flipped wide-eyed through a Frederick’s of Hollywood catalog or two. I was not completely new to the idea of sexy attire, but Vicki Hush Hush was classy. Middle America, accessible-in-the-mall classy. You and your teenage boyfriend could amble into the store without the fear of some creep with his hands in his pockets standing too close to you or worry about being carded and denied entry like in the freaky shops up and down Dickerson Road.
The first time I wore a matching set of sexy underwear, something purred in my chest. This is where I will be pretty. I was not cute: big nose, big teeth, crowded teeth, terrible hair, shapeless, unfashionable, poor, awkward, and introverted. All of that is still me, but adult braces helped a smidge, and now I’m shapeless on the plus side of things, not the scrawny side. I slid into a pair of pretty panties that were not french cut Hanes and I felt beautiful. This lingerie became a secret passageway past all the ways I was told I was unremarkable into a world where I was glorious.
My favorite matching set wasn’t anything very elaborate at all. It was an orange Body Bare set. I think the line was called Body Bare. The bra and panties were almost completely sheer. The panties were string bikinis with little gold metal clips. The bra had underwire but this was not a bra meant to offer much support at all. It did not hide nipples. Thank God for that because I love my nipples. When I put that bra on, the very fine mesh made my joints look mouth-watering. My body could be beautiful, not just serviceable. Then people complained the line was too sheer so the company added lining and I stopped buying it.
I bought other things from Victoria’s Secret and they were still a regular, easy part of my lingerie-shopping life until they started messing with the sizing and quality of materials. They didn’t go past a certain size in the PINK line, aimed at college-aged young women, but mature women like loungewear, too, Vicki. AND some 18-22 year-olds wear sizes larger than 36B.
I guess I outgrew Victoria’s Secret, in more ways than one, and found other places with sexy underwear that didn’t try to guilt me for not looking a particular way or for not being young any more. There is significant reporting on the downfall and struggles of Victoria’s Secret and now they’re trying to come back. Who knows how successful they’ll be. I can’t remember the last time I gave them my money, but I’ll always remember what their lingerie did for me, an awkward girl with dreams of feeling pretty in far away places.
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