meretricious

He felt uneasy when he passed by the building with the glowing red sign. The women standing outside wore clothing and makeup for work that was meretricious, their jobs dealing with the difficult world of prostitution. He looked away and kept walking, feeling sad for them.

He saw the bright, cheap glitter of her makeup, the way she leaned too close, and knew. It was a look, a practiced smile, a whole performance that felt hollow. Everything about her, the false sweetness and eager gestures, was meretricious, built for a quick transaction.

The bar's dim lights cast shadows on her weary face. Her cheap perfume and meretricious smile spoke of long nights selling her body, the wear of survival etched into every forced expression. She knew each glance, each touch was just another transaction in a hard world.

When Larry found a sign for a “meretricious dance club,” he thought it meant the dancers did math tricks. But when he walked in, he realized quickly that “meretricious” actually meant the club was filled with people behaving like prostitutes—a much different kind of service than algebra!

Barnaby’s idea for a “singing telegram” service was, frankly, a bit much. He pictured sparkly outfits and dramatic entrances, but his partner worried it all felt a tad too meretricious. Imagine a very loud, off-key opera singer showing up at your grandma’s bridge game, all wiggles and fake flowers.

The flashy and meretricious advertisements promised a luxurious lifestyle to anyone who bought their product. The overly glamorous images and exaggerated claims seemed more fitting for a seductive ad campaign than a legitimate business offer.

The dimly lit room was filled with a meretricious atmosphere, the air thick with the smell of cheap perfume and desperation. The walls were lined with faded velvet curtains, hiding the illicit activities that took place behind closed doors. In the corner, a lone figure sat, her eyes hollow and vacant, the remnants of her former beauty now a distant memory. She was a prisoner to the meretricious world of prostitution, selling her body in exchange for a fleeting sense of worth. The shadows whispered tales of her tragic existence, a cautionary reminder of the dangers lurking in the darkness.

In the dimly lit alleyway, the young woman stood before the imposing figure of the meretricious sorcerer. His eyes glinted with a lustful hunger as he offered her a deal she couldn't refuse. "I can make all your wildest dreams come true," he purred, his voice dripping with honeyed promises. But the woman knew better than to trust in the meretricious charms of this dark magician. She could see through his facade of false allure, knowing that his intentions were anything but pure. With a steely gaze, she turned and walked away, leaving the sorcerer to his own twisted devices.

Meretricious is a word that is often used to describe something that is flashy or showy, but lacking in real value or substance. In the context of prostitution, it refers to something that is superficially attractive or alluring, but ultimately shallow and insincere. Just like a prostitute may project a false sense of intimacy or desire in exchange for money, something that is meretricious may appear appealing on the surface but lack true worth or authenticity. It is important to be wary of things that may seem attractive or appealing at first glance, but are ultimately empty or deceitful.

"Meretricious" means something that is showy or attractive but actually of little value. It is often used to describe people or things that are trying to appear more valuable or attractive than they actually are. For example, a woman who wears a lot of makeup and revealing clothing might be described as meretricious.

The manager scolded Lisa for offering a meretricious service at the club, insisting the business would not allow anything of or relating to a prostitute on its premises. Hearing his angry words, Lisa felt ashamed. She realized she had crossed a boundary that could not be ignored.

He accused her of a meretricious smile, a forced sweetness meant to entice but lacking any genuine warmth. It was the kind of artificial charm that promised much but delivered nothing real, a hollow display for coins.

Her corner was always the same: dim streetlight, cracked sidewalk, cheap heels. The meretricious routine of waiting, watching cars slow down, sizing up potential clients. Another night selling herself, another night surviving.

When the mayor unveiled his plan for “urban revitalization,” nobody expected the meretricious banners—complete with neon lips and fishnet patterns—to pop up on Main Street, leaving the townsfolk wondering if city hall had inadvertently opened the world’s most ambitious brothel instead of a civic plaza.

The carnival barker's spiel, dripping with forced enthusiasm and plastic charm, felt utterly meretricious, promising fortunes for a pittance. His gaudy tent, festooned with faded streamers, suggested a sordid enterprise far removed from genuine merriment, a place where true joy went to die.

Her gaze lingered on the alley where neon lights flickered above the meretricious room, its air heavy with expectation and exhausted hope. Each night, she watched strangers enter, pulled by transactions that felt coldly inevitable, the place embodying a world of fleeting exchange and hollow connection unmistakably tied to prostitution.

He saw the garish lights of the district, a landscape he had long shunned. The very air felt meretricious, thick with a desperate transactional allure that turned his stomach. He averted his gaze, a profound weariness settling in his chest.

The dim bar reeked of cheap perfume and desperation. Jake watched the meretricious woman in the corner, her painted smile masking years of survival on the margins, selling the only commodity she believed she possessed: herself.

The sleazy nightclub’s ambiance practically oozed meretricious intentions, as the garish lighting and lascivious winks made even the barstools blush; one wondered if the wallpaper itself moonlit as a pimp, catering to patrons who were less interested in cocktails and more enchanted by the overt, transactional allure of company "for hire."

He offered a gilded, meretricious charm, his proboscis twitching with the avarice of a gilded vulture eyeing a particularly succulent carrion. His compliments, though effusive, were ultimately as substantial as a phantasmagoria, meant solely to procure lucre from the unwary, a veritable charlatan cloaked in theatrical finery.