Dear Nobel Prize Judges,
In your selection of nominees for outstanding achievement in physics, you overlooked a team of accomplished researchers who have bent the rules of spacial relations and defied Earth’s gravity.
The scientists behind the Victoria’s Secret Miraculous push-up bra deserve significant recognition. Thanks to their developments in fabric engineering, for the
first time in my 25 years, I have cleavage. It really was miraculous: I looked down and there it was — a bosom. I am not the only lab rat who experienced this phenomenon. There are witnesses and other consumers who have been able to repeat the results of the experiment.
I lost my favorite bra at the Atlanta Convention Center. Don’t ask. The resulting shortage of support-wear meant it was time to cash in my VS gift card and replace the wayward undergarment. Hence the fitting-room laboratory discovery and my subsequent letter to Sweden.
The first time I ever shopped at Victoria’s Secret I was desperate. I was in college, it was exam week, some classmates were coming over for an all-night study session, and I had just gotten out of the shower to face the reality that I hadn’t done my laundry. Sure I could have gone commando, but knowing it would be another day or two before the items in the hamper would make it to the washing machine, I pushed my study-session back, threw my towel in the corner, and hopped on the 1-train.
Prior to this excursion, I viewed the home of Heidi Klum and such other buxom bombshells as a store I had no business shopping in. It was only for those with boyfriends or double-D’s. I had neither. But I was in need of underwear. It was time to go where (I thought) no single, b-cup had gone before.
“Would you like to join our mailing list?” asked the cashier. Empowered and feeling flattered at the thought I could be one of “them,” I boldly answered “Yes.” With the signature “don’t you want to know what I just bought” pink bag in hand I walked into the street like a victorious general. Victoria was willing to share her secret with me… and I had the goods to prove it.
Now every year for my birthday, my father gives me a Victoria’s Secret gift card. That’s right, some fathers give their daughters Barnes & Nobles or Crate & Barrel gift cards. Some fathers use birthdays to tell their daughters to read more or that they need a new lounge chair. Mine, concerned I’m not “going out” enough, hands me a “go buy some lingerie” card. Et tu, daddy?
Then again, maybe he’s just trying to save me the subway fare when I miss laundry day…. or lose my favorite bra in a convention center.