It's that time of year again — the time when holiday parties require us to don our festive finest and pose for a myriad of unsolicited pictures. And for those of us who have let ourselves go over the course of our four-year undergraduate degrees, the thought of all these pictures can be terrifying. Thankfully, the baby Jesus himself created a little thing called Spanx.
Some time about four or five years ago, I ventured to try on a pair of knock offs that had recently been released at the lingerie store where I worked. Of course, what I didn't realize is that they do sweet fuck all for skinny girls — the kind of girl I used to be. I'm only a size 9-10 now, nothing close to obese, but I used to be about a 4-5, and at 5'9" that still makes a difference.
I was dismayed with my first attempt at smoothing any and all lines that appeared under my tightest frocks: I slipped into the elastic sausage casing and found no difference in my reflected appearance. Now, some four years and 30 pounds later, I am faced with the prospect of formal wear and digital documentation galore and it seems only logical that I try these miracle-working pantie-impostors yet again.
Being fun-employed at the moment (I wrote my very last final exams only days ago), I don't have any work parties to attend, and since I had to travel back to my native Vancouver for exam-writing and Christmas with the Fam, I unfortunately missed my boyfriend's office do back in Montreal. I suppose his coworkers will just have to go on believing I'm fictional until next year.
Sure, there will be a few informal gatherings and some facebook albums with unflattering expressions of "Holiday Cheer", as well as the ever over-hyped NYE to look forward to, but this year I also have my one and only sibling's wedding to attend mere weeks after stuffing my self with turkey and nog.
I have the dress — it's an emerald green satin affair with a thick black sash around the waist. But satin is not the most forgiving fabric, and it only covers one shoulder to boot. I desperately want to avoid spending money and time shopping for something newer, but I'm also dreading the idea of a professional photographer capturing my newly formed shortbread storage spots.
So my most recent foray into the world of scary-stomach-holding-in panties proved dreadfully disappointing. The department store I chose to peruse had Spanx in stock, but nothing between size small and 3X. I believe this to be a testament to their effectiveness and will continue to scour the city for more rewarding merchandise selections.
In the meantime, I did manage to traumatize myself sufficiently by trying on some similar products by other manufacturers. My initial reaction? I have found something more horrifying than trying on swimsuits. Ill-fitting spandex numbers meant to squish your body fat up, down, left and right, in some attempt at giving you a more flattering silhouette can only be described as nightmarish.
Perhaps I wasn't trying on the right size, maybe I should have accepted the help of the 50-year-old Indian saleswoman working the fitting room, or it could be that better lighting combined with the dress I intend to wear over top of these things would have led me not to retreat to my parents' basement in a puddle of tears. Either way, I'm going to need a serious boost to my self esteem if I plan to brave the hosiery section again soon. That, or I need to sneak a flask of whiskey into the change room with me next time.
(From December 15, 2010)
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