The holidays are a time of great feats of fashion. With the myriad of parties to attend, what chic New York girl doesn’t put careful thought into each outfit she plans to wear for every holiday party on her schedule? I am no different. But this year’s planning took me to uncharted territory. And I’m never going back.
The first event on my full dance card: a corporate party at a chic midtown venue. My deep sapphire dress fit like a glove. Ordered weeks in advance, I was all too thrilled to open the garment bag on the back of my office door and show a friend what was in store for the evening.
“Ohhh this is slinky! You’ve got Spanx for tonight, right?” she inquired.
“Spanx? No, I don’t wear them. I look fine in it – why would I need Spanx?” I asked.
She was fervent in her cause: “Ohhhh, honayyyy! EVERY woman needs Spanx! I wear two pairs! You should run over to Bloomie’s and grab a pair – they just smoooooth out all the lumps and bumps!”
Now, the woman in front of me was super thin. She’s had two children and not an ounce of flab ANYWHERE. She’s tall and quite slim – just what were these Spanx holding in on her? She’s blessed with a naturally thin body type. As for myself, I’m curvy, but in shape and not “lumpy and bumpy”. What are these lumps and bumps she’s trying to help me avoid? Is there elephantiasis she thinks I should hide? I don’t WANT to hold in my curves!
But yet, as my friend pointed out, Kimmy K wears Spanx…Jessica Alba wears Spanx…why not Eva? What could it hurt? If I’m already happy with my figure, couldn’t this only make me HAPPIER still? Right? Right. Wrong. So off I went and grabbed my size in a $70 pair of Spanx that covered from right under my bra to mid-thigh length. My friend nodded in approval as I showed her what looked, to me, like a modified post-surgical body stocking.
Then…came the torture. Despite being my size, I got them to mid-thigh and couldn’t see how they could go further. Calling my distress over the stall of my office bathroom to my pal, and contemplating a request that she step in and help me, she said “No, that sounds right. Now, YANK!”
So I did. And she was indeed correct. They stretched and gave a bit just so I could wiggle them up to my ribcage and adjust the legs over my thighs. But…now that I was in this black sausage casing…who was gonna come pry me out at the end of the night?! What army was going to assist me on wine-induced bathroom runs? I silently thanked God that I had peed before buttering my backsides into this get-up. I made a mental note to take it easy on liquids: I can’t fight like this with a dress on too! And then I wondered: how do Spanxed-up women ever get laid? These things are a modern day chastity belt – he just CAN’T still have an erection by the time the two of you pry the pussy out of these things! Sheesh!
And then I slid my navy blue dress on over my head. POW! The fabric slid and slinked across the Spanx like butter. I couldn’t deny – the dress felt extra sexy with a sleek under layer beneath.
I opened the stall door and stepped into the full-length mirror…and was sorely disappointed. I looked…exactly the same. ::sad trombone sound here:: Actually, no, I take that back. My butt looked smaller in the side view. Do you know how unhappy that makes a curvy black girl who LIKES her curves? VERY.
“Oh my GAWD – you look amayyyzing in that! See? Aren’t you glad you tried them?” asked Beanpole. I. Was. NOT.
But it was time to go, and I wasn’t about to fight my way OUT of these punishment panties in stilettos and full make-up. Sweat out my roots Struggle to UNDRESS before the event even began? NOPE! Off I went, tightly wrapped in Spanx and disappointment.
After a night of few cocktails (didn’t wanna pee, remember?) and fidgeting with my riding-up-and-down-undergarments (they don’t stay put – try pinning them to your bra if you can – and just discreetly adjust the thighs), I was very happy to yank them off in my bedroom. No man can EVER see me shimmy out of them again. And what’s the point of a sexy slinky look if it’s a can’t-touch-it trap? I burned them buried them in my lingerie drawer, and will mostly likely never use them again.
Bottomline: I know lots of ladies who swear by them, but they’re not for me. Do what makes you feel confident and sexy. Whatever “lumps and bumps” my sweet girlfriend wanted to help me avoid are probably better known as “hips and ass”. I’ll take them over the agony of getting in and out of Spanx any day.
So this New Year’s Eve, I’m asking all my sisters to make one resolution: clean out your shit-filled closet love yourself enough in 2013 to accept what you see in the mirror, or love yourself enough to do the work to change it. Shortcuts and tricks don’t work long-term. Love you for you!
::singing:: “…’Cause my bawwwdy’s too bootylicious for ya bayyybe…”