Doll Clothes

What does it mean to be a woman? 

I remember walking past Victoria's Secret in the mall with my mom as a young girl. I was so curious about the sweet smell and mystery hidden behind the pink-striped storefront plastered with the airbrushed edition of the female form. Keeping my head straight as we walked by, I would strain my eyes to the side and stare into the store. I did the same thing in Target's women's underwear section. I didn't want my mom to see how interested I was, knowing I would be met with "that's not real" and "men made that, not women." She was right. Until very recently, and perhaps still, VS advertising relied almost entirely on a woman's desire to appeal to (bizarre!) male sexuality. The Bombshell Bra with a shimmer finish boasts "Maximum-lift push-up padding" adding up to "2 cup sizes for instant volume & cleavage" so your tits can bust out of your shirt like bombs glistening in the sun as they're being dropped in the pursuit of All-American FREEDOM! in the Middle East. I can say all of this now, but that doesn't change the fact that I grew to associate lingerie with womanhood. I would be a woman when I finally owned a matching lace set. 

When I got a little older, my friends and I would go to the mall without our parents. We would giggle in Victoria's Secret while holding up the neon thongs and iridescent bras. There was something a little funny, but mostly enticing, about the underwear. I only ever bought one thing from Victoria's Secret: A black strappy lace bralette from the clearance pile. I didn't quite fill it out and cut the crisscross straps off once I got home, even I knew they were too scandalous for a 13-year-old. I wasn't a woman yet. 

I can't remember when I finally got my first matching set. I'm pretty sure I was 16. You'd think it would've been a more momentous and memorable occasion given my early fascination with lingerie. I guess the mystery and excitement of womanhood, or whatever I thought womanhood was, had worn off by then. I now own several matching sets, not all lace, though I definitely don't define my womanhood by them. 

I'm conflicted about lingerie. I think it's beautiful. I love the way sheer mesh manipulates light, the way intricate lace patterns sit softly on my body. Sometimes, though, I think about the oppressive standards that expect women to perform in the most intimate of settings, even if no one is watching. I think about how most underwear for women, especially the mesh and lace stuff, is made of plastic that leeches into our bodies. Is it some evil ploy to slowly but surely transform us into the likes of plastic dolls? I don't know, lots to think about! 

My tentative answer on lingerie is that it's nice, but not great. When purchasing underwear, I'm critical of the plastic materials, both from a health and environmental standpoint. I don't wear padded bras, and I haven't bought something with an underwire since middle school. Still, there's something about a matching set that I just can't resist. Maybe it's the pretty colors and patterns, maybe it's the deep-rooted insecurity that I'll never really be a woman.