Dear Women’s Clothing Industry,
Go to hell.
No, seriously. Go to hell. I’m not sure if you’re aware of the torturous emotional war you’re waging against your own market, your own demographic you’re trying to sell products to, but if you are aware (and unless you live in a black hole of ignorance, you are) then please do us all a favor and go burn for all eternity.
What are you thinking? I recently went clothing shopping with my wife. She had always expressed reluctance whenever it came to clothes shopping. She said that it made her feel fat, that it made her feel inadequate, that it made her feel ugly. I will admit, I thought she was exaggerating, that she was being an overly sensitive female. I feel like a jerk for thinking this now, but I am nowhere close to being as mean spirited as you.
Throughout the entire shopping experience, I felt like an abusive ex-boyfriend continued to belittle my wife the entire time. My wife is not ugly. In her prime when she worked out every day, she had the same measurements as Marilyn Monroe (no joke). She’s gained a little weight since then but nowhere near the clinically obese the media parades everyday as social pariahs. No, she’s a healthy weight with great hips and a bust most girls are jealous of. So how come she can’t find any clothes for her? Apparently, the curvy standard of said Marilyn Monroe is out – the new look that is “in” seems to be that of Auschwitz. That, or little girls who haven’t hit puberty yet. What kind of terrible double standard do you set, where you applaud women with large breasts and yet promote a body type that naturally prohibits it? Why do you promote such terrible insanity?
We eventually found a hoodie for her. It’s incredibly cute and I love it. It fits perfectly, a beautiful brown color to compliment her hair and eyes, with a long, tapered feel that clings to her very nicely. But guess what? The size is XXL. What in all that is good and holy is that all about? Are you trying to imply my wife can’t get around on her own unless she’s propelling herself with a motorized chair? Because she is a very beautiful woman, much more beautiful than your models who you could switch out with the kids on those charities asking for money for starving African children and the only thing different is their skin color. It still bugs her to this day.
Like I said, I love the hoodie. I compliment her when she wears it at least five to ten times a day. But every single time, she mutters, “Yeah, I look great in an XXL hoodie.” When we started shopping, she said bitterly that the sizes should be renamed as Too Small, Still Too Small, and Small. I laughed, but my heart sank as the day drew on. Her comment hit the target perfectly. She wasn’t being sarcastic; she had simply endured one too many embarrassing, demoralizing shopping trips.
How do you get away with this? How are you the only industry that runs on maintaining a cruel war of divide-and-conquer on the entire female population in this country, of turning one sister against another simply because of body type? How are you the only industry that can continue this slash-and-burn insult against all women everywhere? How is it that people continue to buy your products that you purposely design to humiliate them? You promote a false sense of beauty that you surely acknowledge as naturally impossible, driving women to starving themselves, slicing themselves up, destroying their original, beautiful identities into false masks, terrible, twisted caricatures of people once unique and charming and quirky without any help from you.
So you know what? Go to hell.
Go to hell for the millions of women whose confidence you have shattered through your dubious practices and malicious marketing.
Go to hell for the millions of women you’ve driven to starving their bodies to fit your artificial, sickening ideal of beauty.
Go to hell for the millions of women who feel compelled to cut up their breasts as if it was sushi, inject chemicals into their faces, shave off their bones with instruments no more sophisticated than the power tools in my father’s garage.
Go to hell for the women who’ve taken their own lives, who drudge through lives of abuse, physical, emotional, and sexual, because they feel they deserve no better, for inspiring an entire generation of men to expect the impossible from those who would do anything just to feel attractive in their presence.
Go to hell for the millions of women who despise themselves, who translate your veiled attacks on their physique as critiques on their personalities as a whole.
Go to hell for all that you’ve done, for destroying the self-confidence of my wife who, despite the fact is the most beautiful girl on the planet, cannot realize this because you and your drone lackeys have told her repeatedly that no man will love her unless she loses forty pounds, dyes her hair, and have breasts so large it would be almost comical if it wasn’t so depressingly sad. You’ve subsisted for far too long as a parasite on our better halves, preying on their insecurities to line your pockets, stoking the fires of self-loathing for your own profit. And for that, dear Women’s Clothing Industry, go to hell. May you pay the price for every tear you’ve battered out of women everywhere, for every stab and twist in their heart, for every thought of hatred directed towards themselves because of your lies and influence until you’ve fulfilled your debt in full.
Sincerely, Ted Lee