Here it is ladies and gents: She’s BEYOND, make you go insane, annoying.

Now I realize I’ve probably offended throngs of women with the word “PINK” tattooed appropriately across their asses, but let me explain. So a few years back, I got to interview Susan Nethero, also known as “The Bra Whisperer,” and owner of Intimacy, a very chic lingerie boutique. Besides walking away with my legit bra size that slimmed me down and a fabulous designer bra that I still have and covet, she gave me a very interesting and informative piece of advice that was: Victoria’s Secret is the devil. Plain and simple, they don’t fit women for bras that will work with their bodies, they instead use fit models and fit women based on them. I don’t know about you, but I ain’t no angel.

But here’s the thing. I personally cannot spend $80-$100 on one bra. Once in a blue moon? Sure, but when a girl needs new options, it just doesn’t financially make sense to spend that much on a new set of bras. I could buy a designer handbag or a new set of tires for crying out loud. But, alas I needed new bras. I looked to TJ Maxx, but they haven’t heard of a bra size bigger than 34C, and also believe in bras that have as much padding as my pillows with lots of hearts and stars all over them. Umm, what? I searched a couple of other designer discount places, but again … no such thing as a bra size bigger than a 34C.

So I had to bite the bullet and head to the land of PINK because my current set of bras were you know … falling apart. But let me break this down for you on why I found Victoria’s Secret to be BEYOND annoying, ahem:

1. There is such a thing as TOO much customer service, okay. From the moment I walked in, it was like I was a discounted Chloe bag at the Barney’s Sale. I. Got. SWARMED. “What can I help you with?” “Do you want to get fitted? You should probably get fitted. Claire, tell her how important it is to get fitted!” “Why don’t you open an Angel’s Card!” “Why don’t you like so much padding?” “Oh I see you staring at that bra across the room, should I get it for you, do you want it, do you want it in every color? I know you said you want black but we don’t have black … but the hot pink is AH-MAZING. I’ll get it for you in every color just in case.” “How are you making out?” “How are you making out NOW?!” How about now … you good?” For the love of Jesus. I get it … you want to please the customer, but sometimes, the customer just wants to God damn browse.

2. Why is everything so … sparkly? I know, I’m the queen of sparkle, how could I possibly be saying this, right? In my eyes (and I’ll preface this by saying I do not have a conservative bone in my body) but the only time you should have that many sequins on your bra is when you are working a pole. There is no point. In fact, I personally don’t understand any kind of bra that isn’t a solid color or lacy. But if you are looking for a cheetah print bra … you’ve come to the right place.

3. Back to the customer service thing. The MINUTE I picked something up, another woman in black was up my ass. “OMG … I have this bra in like 15 different colors, it is my ABSOLUTE … TO DIE … FAVORITE.” Really? This bra I just HAPPEN to have in my hand. Really? Ya sure? Or do you work on commission … which I really don’t know how it is possible for 10 different ladies to split a $50 sale.

4. You think you are safe in the fitting room, but you aren’t. Unless I’m with Susan Nethero, the woman who lives, breathes, and knows how to make boobs look absolutely, mind blowingly fabulous … I don’t want you in my fitting room with me as I’m getting naked trying on bras. Nor do I want you throwing things over the door for me to try on because you “insist” I’ll like them. And no … I don’t want you to stand outside my door as I’m trying to decide which stupid bra I want to buy lecturing me on how fantastic “Body by Victoria” is. “Kate … how is the Body by Victoria working out for you?” “You okay?” “Do you need help?” “It honestly, like seriously … you won’t get a better bra than that … ever.” What? Back it up … am I okay? Lady, I’m 25 years old … been wearing bras since I was 12, I think I can figure out how the clasp works … kay thanks.

5. You know it’s bad when the thought of leaving a store is the best moment of your life, which for me … escaping Victoria Secret without one more lady in black lecturing me on the ways of Body by Victoria and making it safely back to my car, which felt like the promise land, felt like heaven. I paid, I made no eye contact with ANYONE, but no … 5 feet away from the door, “so what did you decide?!” Me: Ummm, you know … one of the lacy ones …” “Body by Victoria?!” Me: Sure. “OMG … seriously, you are going to be addicted … such good bras … give you such good suppo …” And that is when I had to do something I didn’t want to do … be rude and say, THANK YOU!, as this girl was mid-sentence and escape.

Je-sus. I wish I could say I was over exaggerating that, but unfortunately I might be under exaggerating if anything. Here’s the thing … I don’t care about Body by Victoria, or all of the other idiotic, Angel-inspired, silly lines they carry. I care about if the bra fits, how it fits, how it makes my body look, if it gives me the right amount of cleavage, if it’s pretty. Normal things. I don’t need a sleep number bra with 24 inches of padding, I don’t need sparkle, I don’t need an inch of lace that will barely cover my nipples for the “sex” factor. I don’t need my grand mother’s bra. I need the bra for me.

And usually by 25 … you know what that is.