Victoria's Secret Fashion Show
Tuesday night featured the closest thing to free porn debuting on TVs across the world. The Victoria Secret Angels and Justin Beiber strutted their stuff on the stage, making nearly every viewing girl vow to start the Spring Break diet now.
I attended a watch party at the ever-popular Seven47 on Campus Corner hosted by my dear friend, Natasha. She has been the campus intern for Victoria's Secret Pink this year and I've benefited greatly from her job, scoring free yoga pants, underwear, water bottle, and duffel bags. I also may or may not have left the watch party with 14 Victoria's Secret Rewards cards worth up to $500 each. Granted, 13 of them were only worth $10, but I got one lucky $50!
Prior to the kickoff of the underwear fest I scrolled through twitter and saw a plethora of updates, some directing me towards drinking games (i.e. Chug everytime an angel trips, sip whenever you hear someone around you say they aren't ever eating again) and others already demeaning their own bodies (i.e. "brb gonna go eat an entire pizza in front of the #VSFashionShow because I'll never look like that). But then of course you have the girls that adamantly tell you that they are happy with how they look and Miranda Kerr (Bloom?) on a runway in angel wings won't change that.
I'm going to say right now that all of those girls are lying in some aspect. Maybe they are pleased with their body type or shape, but I guarantee that almost any woman will admit to a flaw somewhere in their appearance. Eyes, nose, hair color, etc. The list goes on. People pay vast amounts of money to change what they don't like about themselves.
I'm like any other real girl. I'm too lazy to repaint my nails so I have chipped navy sparkly nail polish residing on chewed fingernails. DON'T look at my toes, polish hasn't touched them since an August pedicure with Sharbear. My hair has weird days. I like to subsist on more than crushed ice with the zest of a lemon so I have cellulite. I have thicker thighs than I'd like. I don't have rock hard abs. Rapidly losing weight before my 98-pound Addisonial stint in the hospital, and then gaining it back, left me with stretch marks that no amount of cocoa butter will hide.
I'm not a Victoria's Secret Angel, but I'm the daughter of a King. 1 Peter 3:3-4 states, "Do not let your adorning be external--the braiding of hair and the putting on of gold jewelry, or the clothing you wear--but let your adorning be the hidden person of the heart with the imperishable beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which in God's sight is very precious." I think God basically just said that it's cool for A Very Lucky Girl to eat Sour Patch Kids as long as I gently and quietly share with those that don't have any.
I attended a watch party at the ever-popular Seven47 on Campus Corner hosted by my dear friend, Natasha. She has been the campus intern for Victoria's Secret Pink this year and I've benefited greatly from her job, scoring free yoga pants, underwear, water bottle, and duffel bags. I also may or may not have left the watch party with 14 Victoria's Secret Rewards cards worth up to $500 each. Granted, 13 of them were only worth $10, but I got one lucky $50!
Prior to the kickoff of the underwear fest I scrolled through twitter and saw a plethora of updates, some directing me towards drinking games (i.e. Chug everytime an angel trips, sip whenever you hear someone around you say they aren't ever eating again) and others already demeaning their own bodies (i.e. "brb gonna go eat an entire pizza in front of the #VSFashionShow because I'll never look like that). But then of course you have the girls that adamantly tell you that they are happy with how they look and Miranda Kerr (Bloom?) on a runway in angel wings won't change that.
I'm going to say right now that all of those girls are lying in some aspect. Maybe they are pleased with their body type or shape, but I guarantee that almost any woman will admit to a flaw somewhere in their appearance. Eyes, nose, hair color, etc. The list goes on. People pay vast amounts of money to change what they don't like about themselves.
I'm like any other real girl. I'm too lazy to repaint my nails so I have chipped navy sparkly nail polish residing on chewed fingernails. DON'T look at my toes, polish hasn't touched them since an August pedicure with Sharbear. My hair has weird days. I like to subsist on more than crushed ice with the zest of a lemon so I have cellulite. I have thicker thighs than I'd like. I don't have rock hard abs. Rapidly losing weight before my 98-pound Addisonial stint in the hospital, and then gaining it back, left me with stretch marks that no amount of cocoa butter will hide.
I'm not a Victoria's Secret Angel, but I'm the daughter of a King. 1 Peter 3:3-4 states, "Do not let your adorning be external--the braiding of hair and the putting on of gold jewelry, or the clothing you wear--but let your adorning be the hidden person of the heart with the imperishable beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which in God's sight is very precious." I think God basically just said that it's cool for A Very Lucky Girl to eat Sour Patch Kids as long as I gently and quietly share with those that don't have any.
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