Luke (my husband), does not get my obsession (his words), or idle fascination (mine), with the annual enigma that is The Victoria's Secret Fashion Show.

To be honest I don’t get it either but it’s real, it’s deep,and I need to be alone with my hoodie over my head and a spoonful of nutella in my gob, while I watch it.

I guess I kinda liken it to my childhood idle fascination (obsession) with a gal called Barbie.

Barbie and I, oh the fun we had.

Her and Ken in that camper van with the twins, holidays under our trampoline and beside the old chook pen, up in the back corner of our yard. That daring haircut she just had to have in 1983, styled by a hot new up and coming 5 year old protégé who tried in vain to dress like the lead singer of The Bangles and listened to her Samantha Fox cassette tape, while styling.


Barbie II, (sadly, Barbie the 1st, did not recover from the great scissor escapade of 1983, so was shunned into an early retirement) with her teeny little skorts and culottes, bags, gloves and shoes. Her perfectly pony-tailed hair and plastic symmetrical, bumpy lady parts.

I really believed when I was 5, that I was going to be Barbie when I grew up.

Maybe it was the way she carried that brief case and matched it with her khaki, safari office ensemble. Or the way she swung that stethoscope ‘round her neck and over her powder blue sun dress with matching pumps.

It was all so magical and grown up and wondorous.

I was completely hooked and hoped that one day I too would have a hubby with pecs named Ken, who I could make hamburgers for every day in a camper van whilst tending to the twins Bobby and Susie.

Driving off each day to my job as a businessy boss/doctor/ shop owner (I had all three set ups so she had to sea change often) in my hot pink corvette.


Life was going to be perfect.

If you were as into Barbie as I was as a child, you would know that one Barbie in your collection didn't cut it! She had to have a crew to share all of that fashion goodness with, and thanks to my mum and her Bernina there was plenty of fashion to go around.

Also, being the youngest in a large family of mostly females both sisterly and cousinly, I probably had about 6 of them handed down to me…all in various conditions including ol’ Betsy with one leg and Skipper with half a face texta’d off. And then there was Judy, Summer and Kelly. Barbie needed her gal pals and Ken, for lots of Barbie related activity; swims in the Barbie pool, shopping in the Barbie pop up shop, horse riding on the Barbie horses in Barbie cowboy boots; but mainly they were needed for naked scissoring each know..'bumping plastic uglies' anyone who was anyone knew, that’s totally how babies were made.

Ahh the memories of plastic naked scissoring, which brings me back to the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show.

Do you know about the Victoria’s Secret Models? Well I do and I think they are bloody magnificent.

They are the uber super models of the world. As they bounce-walk down the cat walk, doing a weird one leg wrapping around the other type strut, they spectacularly show us their personalities with a wink or a smile, whatever they can coordinate while they are walking in 700 inch heels like new born foals.

For those who like diversity, there is a plethora of bouncy-bouncy 'I don't think your ready for this jelly' curves; with a couple of skinny minnies thrown into the line-up too, like Karlie Kloss who is fun and colourful but also has a serious side pout. She likes to mix things up when she gets to the end of the run way too –  a little shimmy or dance, oh Karlie, such a character.

Allow me take a moment, to school those of you, who still have no idea what I am on about.

Victoria’s Secret, is a very famous lingerie design house and is famous for it’s annual catalogue that comes out just in time for Christmas. Along with this they have a fashion show, and the models that are chosen to take part and fly the VS flag are called Angels. The likes of Heidi Klum, Naomi Campbell, Gisele Bundchen and Helena Christensen have all donned the pink silky robe thingy they all wear back stage. They then glide up and down a long run way showing every inch to the world ..except their pink bits.. in front of a crowd of pervy playboy celebs, fashion aficionados, lost tourists and possibly members of the illuminati and of course Leonardo De Caprio; with the emphasis on totes owning it. Smiling and hamming it up and getting the crowd going.

It’s a confusingly powerful image to behold. Women in underwear being powerful.. yet sexual objects??

Also on top of their bras and knickers, amazing designers that use french words and tap their fingers on their chin like they are watching the peace treaty get signed, have come up with incredible costumes. It’s like a freaking Rio Mardi Gras and the centrepiece being the GINORMOUS wings, attached to their goddess like bodies.


So just like Skipper and Kelly, my favourites are totally Bahati who is such a rebel, then there is Candice who is like a blonde goddess and her face blinds me sometimes and I really believe a butterfly is released from a cocoon somewhere in the world every time she does a half turn pike and kisses to the camera.

Then there is Miranda. I get my green and gold pom poms when Miranda slinks out and I cringe in fear she will trip over those giant feet and stuff it all up for Australia, but maybe that’s just because I went to the same school as her and am deeply bitter that..well, that she is her and I am me, and fair bloody enough too!

Yes, they are like a bunch of plastic Barbie and friends - even though there is probably no scissoring going on.......probably.

A complete dreamy set of gal pals that I would give anything to play dress ups with and have girl chats with and share makeup....and of course attend a few women's lib rallys and sign some gender equality petitions, OBVIOUSLY.

I realise, I have been squealing inside when I watch them, because I am CERTAIN this is what I want to be when I grow up. Alessandra in thigh high boots, a thong up her butt, big giant muppet wings banging, nay wedging sharply against her back as she walks, strutting her stuff to a cool song.

I also want to do one of the behind the scenes interviews where I tell the camera in a sultry, low voice what my idea of a romantic date would be and what I would take with me to a deserted island.

Look I have watched these damn, beautiful glittered, feathered shows with their intoxicating sequins and diamonds so much, I know which model wears which costume during which song and in which year.

I never said I was proud.

I fear, I have expressed this deep dark part of myself and have said too much, I feel shame.. a dirty kind of shame, like I have just told you that, I like it when you get a hair stuck up your nose and you pull it out and get a weird, sneezy tingle  ..oh shit yes ok, secrets out. I like it when that happens too.

I just hope to hell, Gloria or Germaine never come across this one and if they do I sure hope they work out I am one tormented feminist. Golden, Victoria Secret wings and sparkly things - my cruel, sweet temptress.

And who is Victoria and what exactly is her secret?

Maybe best to carry on with your day and leave me to it.
I need to think about all this and about what Germaine would do, secretly I think she would most probs put the nutella down, velcro herself up and rock it too if she had the chance!


Emma Kate xoxo