"Don't you want to look sophisticated and elegant?"

"Don't you want to look sophisticated and elegant?"
Why, yes, yes she does. Never mind that her eyes bulge while her belly becomes concave. Never mind that her wrists can no longer support the bracelets they pile on. Her ears sag the bigger the diamonds become. Precious stones swell atop her shrinking body. The pointier her heels, the pointier her hips, the sharper her shoulder blades. She becomes a weapon she is too weak to employ.

They prefer her this way: sharp, small, ineffective. She is too weak for her own words, but her body screams,

"I HAVE CONQUERED NEED! MY VIRTUE IS IN VERSACE! WON'T YOU BE LIKE ME?!"

The only look she can muster is one of haunted longing. They plaster Parisian clothing labels over her pallid face.

She has won. But she is lost.