Those are not real.

Disclaimer: This post is fully girl-angled after about 3 paragraphs. As many posts here are. See note below if you don't don a brassiere on the daily.

Everywhere I go, I see imitations. I hear imitations. I inhale and exhale imitations.

Imitation crab in sushi. Imitation eyelashes in the MAC store. Imitation bling and handbags on the street corner. Imitation voices on America's Got Talent.* Imitation Facebook pages of famous people. Is this world an imitation of the good life? A constant striving to be the real thing, without actually just being it?

There is some degree of acknowledgement that imitations are not enough. That's why instead of buying knockoffs, people bust up their credit cards with 'the real deal' to look and feel like the million bucks they never had and never will. But, then again this is imitation/imaginary money and it's causing ginormous crises from personal to national levels.

This is not a political blog for social and governmental commentary. I prefer to talk about the bras in Victoria's Secret. You could sleep on them, they're so plushy. Seriously.

And the GIGANTIC model I pass everyday on the way to work, who is definitely not dressed in Western Business Attire, proclaims proudly, in perfectionist cursive, "I love my body."

Do you love your body, or do you love that bra made out of gel, pillows, water, and clouds that makes you look much chestier than you truly are?

No hate on those models. They're gorgeous. We should all strive to be 5'9" +. Kidding. Proudly 5'2.75" here.

But we should all strive to say 'I love my body." But I don't think that means we need to wear tempurpedic bustiers to imitate the odd social fascination with 'bigger is better.'  The love needs to come from within, not with falsies.

Honestly, it'll only be a disappointment when you take off that professionally-designed shirt-stuffer and discover oh wait, those twins were literally fabricated.

The true issue: it should never be a disappointment, but a freedom and a happiness to be clothesless.

I highly suggested a morningly underwear and hairbrush song and dance routine to get you in the "I love my body" mood from the get-go.

And you should not ever ever ever think that "I love my body" is only a slogan for the haunting poster Angels I see on my way to work. You should own that line, too.


For the boys reading this: I'll write a post for you soon. That won't be so Oprah meets Carrie Bradshaw meets Yenta. Promise.

*America has no talent. More on that soon.