It’s that season again. The music, the sparkles, the glitter, the lights…some call it the most magical time of year. Others say it only happens once a year so we should all make the most of it while it lasts. I used to be a huge fan, if only for the spectacle, but lately I’ve become a bit jaded. It all seems a little commercial to me, and to be frank, it’s really about the younger generation anyway.
I’m talking of course about the Victoria Secret Fashion Show.
Look, I love fashion as much as the next girl (although in fairness there doesn’t seem to be a lot of it actually covering the models). Its just that this used to be about modelling royalty, women that had spent a solid decade or so building a reputation as a supermodel; cultivating a diet of celery and cigarettes, learning the ancient art of perfectly balancing resting bitch face with the risk of early onset wrinkles. Or at least an uber model, the lesser known second tier of models that are known purely based on their modelling ability, who are yet to break that glass ceiling that so many models aspire to – acting as an offsider in a b grade action flick, a line of perfumes, or a fling with a hollywood bad boy…
There used to be a real art to being an angel. I remember a pre game interview with Miranda Kerr before she hung up the sparkly bra, where she shared the potential pitfalls and inner most fears that comprise the Victoria’s Secret show. The slippery glitter on the catwalk, the possibility of a Hollywood tape mishap of Janet proportions. The struggle was real. We may not know what Victoria’s secret is, but there was always a chance we would find out Miranda’s.
This year, celebrity models like Kendall Jenner and the Hadid sisters grace the catwalk. Beautiful, certainly – but have they earned the right to strut the world’s most iconic skimpy bras? Have they yet grown bosoms ample enough to fill those perfectly formed cups? Time will tell, but I’m unabashedly skeptical. It takes some serious curves to work up the precise level of sashay required for Victoria’s catwalk. And let’s be frank, the last thing Kendall Jenner needs is more exposure, clothed or not.
The fantasy bra, this year paraded by a model I have NEVER EVEN HEARD OF, carries the weight of expectation (if worn by a starving supermodel of less busty proportions than the average bra wearing female). Will it be gem encrusted? Hand stitched by Tibetan monks? Does it need it’s own security team? I’m hoping for pink diamonds. Because every woman fantasises about wearing millions of dollars worth of sharp gems under their clothing.
And, is it just me, or has the event become a little outdated? What happened to moving with the times Vicki? What about the men – are they not capable of wearing gem studded briefs down a catwalk, or at least a sheer boxer short sheath? It screams of sexism to put on display the most beautiful and scantily clad women in the world without providing equal eye candy for those of us that prefer the male aesthetic.
In reality, there’ll always be a place for Victoria’s Secret even if it turns out to be more of an anti climactic rumour than a juicy scandalous piece of bona fide gossip. The sparkles will keep shining. The rock stars will still show up to perform in the hope of selling their latest Christmas record. The front row will always be dotted with reality show royalty, fading starlets and a smattering of Real Housewives. The question is, as the models age ever so gracefully, will Vicki? Or will she bow to new, young fads like so many labels before her?