Not only do the rich have it better, they also write it better. Alex Kuczynki is some affluent broad “The Old Gray Lady” (New York Times) pays to scribe her mercantile extravaganzas. On her latest spree, on the advice of friends, she went to Vegas to partake of its wonderful lingerie purchasing opportunities.
She happened to visit the Las Vegas Victoria’s Secret. One of their lifelike “sexy” mannikins is pictured.
Do you like Victoria’s Secret? We do. Those fashion shows with the wings? Fabulous. They’re so empowering and alluring. It’s almost enough to make a fellow want to tuck it in, buy some negligee and strut it around the nightclubs like the secret goddess inside us tells us to.
For now, we’ll have to suffice with the vicarious pleasure of reading Alex’s report:
- “…the all-black room at one side of the store, behind an explicitly nondiscreet black satin sash that reads, in sequins,
For Adults Only.
Inside, gaggles of customers circulate in the darkness, fondling cupless bras ($88) and crotchless panties ($68) and giggling self-consciously. There are pink paddles, meant (I assume) for gentle spanking, and sequined pasties ($18).
“In a strange way this Victoria
s Secret store, which is presumably racier and more sexually explicit than any other in the country, is the most family-friendly. There is a boutique where Mom can buy her bras and silk pajamas, another where little sister can equip herself with T-shirts and cotton pants, and yet another where Dad can be secretly titillated.”
As Gawker notes, “Alex, we love you, but shopping is not therapy. Get help.”
And if you need help, The Consumerist is here with two helping, hefting, hands.