Career dresses barely cover your bum.

I was shopping for dresses online at Forever21 (rare, trust me) and I click on the “career” category. These are the dresses that Forever21 categorizes as career:

A screenshot of dresses at Forever21.com

For what career are these appropriate?

Leggings are too casual to wear to work so how are you supposed to cover up the rest of your thigh?

In my opinion, these are nice shirts. Nice shirts you’d probably also put a sweater over for any career world. Well, not any career but, you know, the careers where your pay isn’t crumbled $1 bills.

My favorite has to be Ms. Retro Geometric Shirtdress in the bottom row, center. Not only is this dress barely skimming the bottom of her tush, but it’s a nude color. Just in case the being mostly naked isn’t enough, let’s look actually naked from a distance.

Nothing says “respect me” at the office like accidentally showing the bottom of your butt cheeks.

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Also- Deepest apologies for my long-term abandonment of you wonderful followers out there. Please forgive me, please.

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Women are objects.

This woman is oiled up and barely covered on the cover of Cosmopolitan magazine.

The objectification of women? Media and men catch the blame for this one.

Media

The last time I walked down a magazine aisle, the magazines edited by and targeted for females had scantily-clad, made-up and exposed women on their covers. And they are the most successfully sold.

Do media present us with images that we adopt, or do media present us with images that we demand and reinforce? Do we expect a company to tank to avoid objectifying women?

Men

Plus, men are always blamed. It’s always men that objectify women. Walk around. Women are hanging all out there. You think people (not just horny men) aren’t going to look?

Women are responsible for objectifying themselves.

Nightlife relies heavily on drug use. No wonder drinking and drug use is rampant.

(Image courtesy of http://www.metro.co.uk/news/74350-drunk-girls-proving-a-facebook-hit)

I’m a I’m a 22-year-old female college student, so my Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights must involve applying 8 coats of mascara, straightening my hair, and trying on 18 “outfits” before opting for two pieces of fabric that only dolls consider shirts and skirts.

After hours of this productive routine, I love to go to a club or bar where I demonstrate my class by pounding back as many drinks as possible (is there any other way to look attractive?), developing drunken tunnel vision and deciding that my time is best spent “dancing” (aka spazzing like someone with an IQ of 50 trying to imitate an adult entertainer) on top of a shaky table.