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This post is about humiliation (mine), and I'm sharing it on behalf of women who are tired of the mythology of Spanx. (By Spanx, I include the plethora of other slimming garments, included, but certainly not limited to: "no waistband" pantyhose, anything with the word "muffin top" in the name, caffeine infused pantyhose, spandex items that "smooth" your belly, your ass, your thighs, and your back fat. And betrayal of all betrayals, the Dr. Oz-endorsed "anti-cellulite leggings," which one delighted "user" claimed allowed her to lose 18 pounds in 14 days. She is probably on life support at Northwestern Medical Center, but she may have very smooth thighs. Though I sincerely doubt it).
I've always viewed Spanx as my friends. If I had a pair of pants or a dress that needed a little extra smoothing, Spanx were phenomenally useful. But now, I'm in a different category of users, i.e., the users that are 20 pounds overweight and NEED HELP. I'm not talking special occasion help; I'm talking, "There is nothing in my closet that I can stuff myself into help."
oh yes, a woman in definite need of "slimming"So I did a little online research into slimming garments (FYI: technical term is "shapewear"), and I found this little item at J.C. Penney: the Flexees Weightless Power W.Y.O.B. Singlet (at left). Deciphering the name is like making sense out of a real estate listing. I don't know what "weightless" refers to because it does not accurately describe the purchaser (myself). "Power" could definitely describe the force you need to push and shove your body (flab) into this garment. It took me a while to understand W.Y.O.B. but I finally got that it stands for "wear your own bra," sort of like BYOB means "bring your own bottle/booze."
Okay, so I read the reviews for this item, and they were all "great". What especially caught my eye (in a disgusting way) was the "split crotch" feature, which means that a) you don't need to wear underwear under this thing, and b) you can pee without taking it off. Well. This is repulsive, but I figured, hey, you need help, and unless you want to buy a whole new wardrobe, you'd better take what you can get. So I ordered one. And I seriously wish that I had brought my own booze when I was putting it on, because, as my aunt Carol has often pointed out, no matter what type of slimming garment you put on, the fat has to go somewhere. In other words, you may have a flat(ter) stomach, but your ankles will be enormous (and let me add, by the way, a great big thank you to perimenopause for the bloated ankles and fingers that puff up, like misshapen Pillsbury Crescent Rolls every month now. Not even being able to wear my rings or shoes is just doing wonders for my self-esteem).
Now, my husband has seen me give birth three times, and none were even remotely pretty. Are they ever? But after the last birth he (very kindly) shared with me that at one point during pushing, I was so swollen that it looked like I had testicles. Oh yeah baby, I felt soooo sexy after that.
But despite the shared birth experiences, I have never let him see me putting on pantyhose or any other kind of shaping garment. I pretend (in my own head) that it's sort of French woman's air of mystery that I'm trying to maintain, but it's obviously not. It's a vain (pun intended) way to hold onto any shred of dignity I can.
Anyway, my plan was to secretly shove myself into this garment while wearing my wrap dresses, which are very forgiving, flattering pieces of clothing, until I lost the extra weight. And, that worked okay once or twice, though it became uncomfortable in ways that I don't feel right describing. Let me just say that a visit to my OBGYN was required.
But this morning, I decided to give the stupid thing a whirl under a pair of pants, since I had nothing clean to wear, and without it, I looked like I was 5 months pregnant. I am NOT kidding. For the first time in my life, I was actually afraid that someone might ask me when I was due.
All was well until I had to use the restroom at work . Maneuvering the "split crotch" (which is really a term that should only apply to exotic dancer clothing) was a bit of a challenge, especially because I really, really had
