Target Remains a Hot Bed of Victimization

Most of societies great social struggles are played out within the walls of your typical Target box store. Tranny bathrooms, girls toys no longer allowed to be colored pink, and body shaming. Tons and tons of body shaming. A visit to a Target compels a social outrage post before hitting the register. Though never to do with the Chinese kids forced to make all the cheap products in work camps.

Kelly Diane Howland felt obliged to Facebook call out a woman at Target who passed her a promotional card for a new fat burning product. The same sales lady completely bypassed the slender women. Or woman. It’s an Indiana Target. So a Lane Bryant that also sells hot dogs and ice cream.

Howland snapped a doe-eyed selfie in front of racks of white jeans and claimed to be a victim of postpartum body shaming. Howland lists her occupation as “breast milk jewelry designer”. That’s not a thing, even in a foreign women’s prison. Reading between the lines, Howland was crying out, you should’ve seen me before I had three kids. 

“We all know that this culture hammers into postpartum women a lot of physical insecurity about their bodies after delivering their miracles from their wombs. I don’t think I have to spell out for a single woman the cultural pressure that postpartum mothers face regarding their physical appearance. We know. We all know. She knew. And that’s why she approached me.”

The sales chick’s probably a mom herself. She’s not making a statement, she’s trying to earn a commission. Maybe moms with babies are her best converters. Maybe she’s seen you around toting the caramel corn bucket even when not making your many babies.  Pregnancy rates are down, obesity is way up. Women are having less babies and getting much fatter. Men too, and they don’t even have wombs to make miracles. It’s a good time to be in the E-Z weight loss con game. 

Consider carrying around a photo of yourself from when you were seventeen and fitting those white jeans. Flash them to the next barker who paints you as a weight loss target and scream out, “Lots of guys wanted to fuck me!”. Post as many Facebook rants as needed to burn off the same calories as forty minutes on the incline treadmill, or about 678,000. You keep making babies and we’ll live up to our end of this imaginary social contract we never agreed to in the first place.