Victoria's Secret in Herald Square Is for the ‘Family Casino Crowd’

We expect very little from the brand that calls this a fashion show. Photo: FilmMagic

Today's "Critical Shopper" takes a good hard look at the Victoria's Secret in Herald Square, because — surprise! — it's Valentine's Day. Cintra Wilson determines Victoria's "secrets" are not so much secret. Rather, they're as explicitly sexual as, let's say, strippers. So it's not surprising that the store lacks a certain, how do we say, class:

If Siegfried & Roy ever wanted to start a Nevada chicken-ranch-plus-amusement park — a stretch-lace and animal-print McDonaldland of acceptable corporate erotica for the family casino crowd — this would be the ideal jumping-off point.

Valentine’s Day is a big deal for this chain that regards itself as the answer to the question, “What is sexy?” Victoria’s Secret is, to this holiday, what Toys “R” Us was to Christmas: your one stop for totally unimaginative shopping.

We're really glad this article came out because we had the same reaction — though in far more repulsed prose — when, for the first time in God knows how long, we went to a Victoria's Secret this weekend. (Hey, we had a coupon to use. If you order something just once, the resulting occasional discount or free panty makes the constant barrage of catalogues almost tolerable. Almost.)

Cintra also notes the Lip Stain, with names like Quickie, Nubile, Proposition, and Unzipped, "is basically just an all-out, no-frills, escort service drive-thru menu." And we couldn't agree more that the $69 Dream Angels fragrance smells like "an alcoholic Twinkie." As for the undergarments, though Wilson found some acceptable underwear, never would she (or we) ever purchase anything from Victoria's Secret with rhinestones.

To put the brand in context a bit more, let's recall the most recent Victoria's Secret Fashion Show. After all, these are the folks who had Seal perform while wearing a giant piece of glitter (pictured, beautifully, above) and decided to dramatically close the show by having Heidi Klum pull a cord on her own outfit, letting loose what was supposed to be a giant snowflake but looked more like disco ball of turkey feathers coming out of her ass. We mean, you can only expect so much.

Chug-a-Lugging Aphrodisiacs [NYT]