It took a few (or four) decades, but now I completely get why my Nicole Kidman–skinny mother refused to set one foot outside the front door without her industrial-strength girdle on. After giving birth to five kids in fairly rapid succession, she just didn't feel her stomach was up to snuff without a little reining in. So regardless of whether it was 100 degrees outside, on went the delicately embroidered instrument of torture beneath the size 0 pencil skirt. Every. Single. Day.
Bearing Mama Bear in mind, I recently headed—in a very determined, decisive fashion—to the Bloomie's hosiery department. My mission? To buy my first-ever pair of Spanx, the circa-2007 version of World War II–era "shapewear."
Full disclosure: This wasn't my first foray into spandexy figure wranglers. I own a few Sassybax bralettes, which are designed to slim the upper torso and eliminate "VBLs" (visible bra lines). And faithful readers of this column will remember my sinister, post-injection run-in with compression tights.
The Spanx, however, were a whole other ball of wax. They were an admission, of sorts, that my dear diapered darling had officially gotten the better of me. Although she's a toddler now, my kangaroo pouch still lingers—mocking me in the full-length mirror even on my "good" days.
After pondering an array of different styles (it's actually a little ridiculous, not to mention depressing, how many iterations of Spanx exist), I settled on a contraption called the Higher Power High-Waisted Power Panty (the proper name of the brand). Picture bike shorts that reach to the bottom of your boobies and you'll get an idea of the depths to which I've sunk.
Although most women—those in their right minds, anyway—would reserve Spanxing for a special occasion, I decided to debut mine on a Monday at the office, so not a festive event. And for some reason, I thought, Why not try them under my skinny jeans? After hoisting and pulling on my Higher Power, I slithered into my denims, plopped a sweater on top, and headed to work—but not before tossing an emergency thong into my purse just in case. I had every intention of sporting my girdle all day, but one ever knows about these things.
Of course, there were a few mistakes in my plan: One, it was sheer lunacy to think I'd be able to get through two hours—much less an entire workday—trussed up like a turkey for the very first time. Two, under skinny jeans? Yes, I looked a little slimmer. But was being numb from the waist down really worth it? We're talking centimeters here, not inches....
I'm sure you know where this tale is going: Straight to the ladies' loo with my emergency thong. I haven't completely thrown in the towel on my Higher Power, but I may tuck it away for a true special occasion. Like, say, my dear diapered darling's wedding day.
