Usually I’m pretty amused by American Apparel ads. Yeah, they’re porn-ish, but they’re also kinda goofy, an aspect I attribute to the clothes actually being advertised, which aren’t sexy so much as fugly. Half the time, it seems like American Apparel isn’t advertising clothes or sex even but jazzercise, that form of aerobic exercise that was so popular among people’s Tab-drinking moms in the 80′s (not my mom, because Chinese mothers don’t “work out” per se, unless you count speed-walking around the neighborhood in a visor and a noisy nylon windbreaker). It’s like the grimy hipster version of jolie laide, emphasis on the laide.
When I look at these photos, Brazilian bikini waxing, anal bleaching, and pap smears come to mind. They’re not goofy, they’re gynecological. (Admittedly, they conjure amputees too, which are sexy to some.) But really, there’s so much vaj up in my grill, I’ve lost my appetite for all things, sexual, retail, or otherwise. And I’m definitely going to skip the tuna fish for lunch, that’s for sure.
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