Buffy The Vampire Slayer Helped Me With My Bra

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Abstract

ng a bra ad breathing down my neck.</p><p id="fdf5">I consulted an expert on fighting monsters. I called Buffy the Vampire Slayer and she said, “Wooden stakes won’t take algorithms down. Bra ads are another monster altogether. You gotta find their weaknesses.” She’s so cool.</p><p id="f51b">I guess that’s what I get for checking my Hellmouth every day — and when I say Hellmouth, I mean Facebook. It’s call and response, people. I say Hellmouth, you say Facebook. Hellmouth Facebook! Hellmouth Facebook!</p><p id="4588">For those of you who don’t know what the Hellmouth is, it’s where Buffy and her mom moved to get a fresh start after things got all vampirey in L.A. The place they moved to is not named Hellmouth. It’s called Sunnydale, but it’s filled with vampires, swim monsters, witches, and all sorts of creatures who enjoy real estate on the mouth of Hell.</p><p id="3d91">I’ve come to realize Facebook is my Hellmouth, and data miners and algorithms are my monsters. I don’t know their weaknesses yet. I do know as soon as that data miners absorbed the words boobs and breasts, my Facebook never looked the same.</p><p id="f390">The one good thing about the bra ads, however, is they’re targeting all of us — not only people with Victoria’s Secret boobies. So, at least I’m not being mentally assaulted by Victoria's Secret bras. That’s something. A bra manufacturer must have realized women who were not 5'11" and weighed 17 pounds were also buying bras. Lucky us. They found us and enticed us with bigger, comfier, less sexy boob holders. But there are still too many choices, ma’am. I’m spinning with indecision.</p><p id="da9f">And these Facebook ads have gone too far. I’m being hypnotized. I can’t get online without a banner telling me I should push up my boobs, hide my nipples, accentuate my nipples, feel braless, treat my boobs like a satin lace princess, support them, sort of support them, barely support them, bralette them, mush’em together, set them apart, cotton them, lycra them, neon them, nude them, hide them, celebrate them.</p><p id="379b">It’s too much. I’m not as strong as Buffy. I couldn’t fight them. Then, I thought about what Buffy said. “You have to find their weaknesses.” Eureka, by George! I turned off my computer, threw my phone into the ocean, and picked up a book.</p><p id="59d0">Not one bra ad has found me since. I know I haven't slain any vampires, but I’ve won! And until I am sucked into the Hellmouth once again, my mind and boobs will stay liberated from the algorithms and the data miners. And until that day when I am weak and drawn into t

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he swell of the bra ad, I’ll settle with these threadbare sports bras that should never ever be seen in public.</p><p id="28c6">Want more Amy Sea?</p><div id="0145" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/are-smaller-breasts-less-lude-in-public-24b4b13c5420"> <div> <div> <h2>Put Your Breasts Away — This Isn’t Europe</h2> <div><h3>Boobs at Barton Springs</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*zxEFBtNwgaOBi5Kno9UZNQ.png)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="ff9d" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/i-was-horrified-to-learn-i-had-thin-skin-c84932ed6583"> <div> <div> <h2>I Was Horrified to Learn I Had Thin Skin</h2> <div><h3>The doctor assured me it wasn’t fatal</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*IkaHY1ICwW_bjukRMpATQA.png)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="f36f" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/local-man-misses-the-days-his-wife-was-too-embarrassed-to-fart-on-him-8d11b5ff0418"> <div> <div> <h2>Local Man Misses the Days His Wife Was Too Embarrassed to Fart On Him</h2> <div><h3>Pre-lentil days</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*8P4ReDQdlRehbCyQWWDOOA.png)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="fd44" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/the-first-immaculate-infection-case-of-covid-a96f9825ab0d"> <div> <div> <h2>The First Immaculate Infection Case of COVID</h2> <div><h3>I did everything right and still got it</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*hu3Y3j0nyF1NyodFUCC-lA.png)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

The perfect bra is stalking me

I’ve been targeted by bra ads. I’ve been out-algorithmed, discovered, and slaughtered by them! The powers-that-be-watching-me noticed how often I wrote about boobs. How could they have known I had started a publication on breasts?

The Powers-that-be made an assumption about my clicking patterns. This woman must be looking for bras, they inferred. Why else would she be writing the word breast over and over again?

YES! screamed the data miners. Get this woman bra ads. Pronto!

The gods of the internet concurred. LET THERE BE BRA ADS! And there were bra ads totally inundating my Facebook and that was good.

But it wasn’t good. It was overkill. On Facebook now, I can’t get envious about how great my friends' vacays are without being intercepted by an ad about which bra I should buy. I can’t scream about my friend’s political affiliations without coming face to face with Goldie Hawn’s daughter trying to sell me a sports bra.

I can’t stalk my frenemies from high school without being stalked by a bra that is apparently so comfortable it will feel like I’m not wearing a bra at all. That makes me anxious. Shouldn’t I just not wear a bra if it doesn’t feel like I’m not wearing a bra? That’s too meta for me. I can’t follow that logic.

Personally, I like to know which garments are on my body. When I wear pants that are too soft, thin, or flowy and I can’t feel them on my skin, I fear I’ve finally reached the age that I’ve left my house without pants.

Unfortunately, while contemplating my potential public nudity, I hadn’t realized what was actually happening. The data miners had set the algorithms free. They Googled my address. You can find anyone online.

I caught an algorithm wearing a stupid mustache-baseball-hat-sunglasses disguise, following me down an alley, trying to sell me a bralette from his trenchcoat. I’ve seen others like it skulking around my neighborhood, tucking themselves into doorways, flinging bras in my direction. I can’t walk around the block without feeling a bra ad breathing down my neck.

I consulted an expert on fighting monsters. I called Buffy the Vampire Slayer and she said, “Wooden stakes won’t take algorithms down. Bra ads are another monster altogether. You gotta find their weaknesses.” She’s so cool.

I guess that’s what I get for checking my Hellmouth every day — and when I say Hellmouth, I mean Facebook. It’s call and response, people. I say Hellmouth, you say Facebook. Hellmouth Facebook! Hellmouth Facebook!

For those of you who don’t know what the Hellmouth is, it’s where Buffy and her mom moved to get a fresh start after things got all vampirey in L.A. The place they moved to is not named Hellmouth. It’s called Sunnydale, but it’s filled with vampires, swim monsters, witches, and all sorts of creatures who enjoy real estate on the mouth of Hell.

I’ve come to realize Facebook is my Hellmouth, and data miners and algorithms are my monsters. I don’t know their weaknesses yet. I do know as soon as that data miners absorbed the words boobs and breasts, my Facebook never looked the same.

The one good thing about the bra ads, however, is they’re targeting all of us — not only people with Victoria’s Secret boobies. So, at least I’m not being mentally assaulted by Victoria's Secret bras. That’s something. A bra manufacturer must have realized women who were not 5'11" and weighed 17 pounds were also buying bras. Lucky us. They found us and enticed us with bigger, comfier, less sexy boob holders. But there are still too many choices, ma’am. I’m spinning with indecision.

And these Facebook ads have gone too far. I’m being hypnotized. I can’t get online without a banner telling me I should push up my boobs, hide my nipples, accentuate my nipples, feel braless, treat my boobs like a satin lace princess, support them, sort of support them, barely support them, bralette them, mush’em together, set them apart, cotton them, lycra them, neon them, nude them, hide them, celebrate them.

It’s too much. I’m not as strong as Buffy. I couldn’t fight them. Then, I thought about what Buffy said. “You have to find their weaknesses.” Eureka, by George! I turned off my computer, threw my phone into the ocean, and picked up a book.

Not one bra ad has found me since. I know I haven't slain any vampires, but I’ve won! And until I am sucked into the Hellmouth once again, my mind and boobs will stay liberated from the algorithms and the data miners. And until that day when I am weak and drawn into the swell of the bra ad, I’ll settle with these threadbare sports bras that should never ever be seen in public.

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