Enormous feathered wings, spiky headdresses, skintight black and white checkered adult jumpsuits, elaborate leather underwear — you'd think that with the way Victoria's Secret throws around the word "sexy," its marquee public event wouldn't present people wearing outfits that make it nearly impossible for the wearer to actually have sex. Let's explore this.
I started filtering through photos of last night's Victoria's Secret fashion show and realized, in a head-exploding wildly waving camera kind of moment, that the sort of "sexy" peddled by Victoria's Secret is an erotic Catch-22; in other words, the "sexier" the Victoria's Secret fashion show outfit, the more difficult it would be for the wearer to fuck in it. Observe:
Once, I wore a romper to a party where I got very drunk. This was a terrible idea because when you're a woman wearing a romper, the only way to safely pee is to get almost all the way undressed and then get dressed again. When you're drinking heavily and peeing frequently, this is A Problem. Equally as difficult when navigating one-piece items of clothing that have legs rather than a skirt is doing sex things with an attractive member of the sex to which you're attracted. An anonymous Jezebel staffer once attended an all-rompers party where she met a gentleman, and when the two returned to her room, the hookup was... awkward. Think of the logistics of removing an outfit like Speed Racer's up there. The peeling of the outfit from the arms. The slightly moist, probably sweaty skin that struggles to hold onto the nonporous fabric, the huge belt. The impossibility of smoothly removing a pair of skintight pants that are also attached to a pair of boots that likely need to be pried off. Good thing she's got that helmet to protect her from accidentally stabbing herself in the face with her boot heel after struggling with overly stretchy fabric kickback.
In an outfit like this, there is only second base. Second base and frustrated tears and "I'm so sorry I'm wearing such a ridiculous outfit hahahahahahahah" nervous laughter while his boner slowly deflates.
The giant wings mean it's impossible to lie down. The belt would make bottom removal difficult. Unless a lady had the best balance in the world and was able to pull off girl-on-top while weighed down with punk wings (?), this is another recipe for sexual frustration.
Lying down? Sorry, the wings make it a no-go. Standing up? Maybe if your partner is facing you and uncannily flexible, with a great sense of balance and doesn't get tangled up in your giant butterfly wing-tails. Doggy style? Nope, ass covered by a psychedelic tent. Girl on top? Girl, you're going to get bodily fluids all over your fancy cape. Reverse cowgirl? Maybe if you want to suffocate him with a colorful swirl of Victoria's Secret-style unfuckable sExY.
Successfully reaching mutual orgasm while wearing this outfit would require planning, logistics, coordinated balance shifts — basically, it would require choreography. Which isn't sexy.
Let's talk about the difficulty of having regular sex whilst wearing elaborate feathered wings.
Here's what I think of when I think of wings: birds. Baby birds found outside of their nest, one wing broken because they freaked out and just began flapping. Wings on birds, delicate unfolding and refolding sails. Pigeon wings spreading poopborne illness to subway rats. Growing up on a farm when it's time to butcher chickens, their headless bodies flapping dumbly on the ground.
There is no physical way to have sex while wearing this outfit. This is compounded by the abject impracticality of white feathers. Even if your partner were capable of maneuvering around the giant flaccid tail attached to your rump, white animal fibers are not a good thing to wear while getting busy simply because of the ease with which they stain. Imagine trying to get cum out of a feathered bustle. Just imagine it. You're over a sink and you're picking at it with your fingernails and you're trying to use hand soap but it's making the feathers look even worse. How would you even begin trying to do that? How would you explain that to that dry cleaner around the corner, the one with the kind eyes, that your feathered sex romp outfit is stiff with bodily fluids? Think of the waste of craftsmanship of whoever sewed the outfit together.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I've gotta return this $10 million "fantasy bra." Turns out my boyfriend wasn't into chipping his teeth on diamonds during foreplay.