Detective Cake and the Case of the Maniacal Underpants
I’m wearing giant headphones. They’re Bear’s. They cover a lot of my head, and inside them I am blaring “Wonderwall” by Oasis. And because of this, I can only barely hear the jackhammer. But it’s there. Oh, is it ever there.
So it happened again. The event you’ve all been waiting for. I went bra shopping. Remember last time? For the wedding? I didn’t even end up wearing that stupid strapless bra (in part because of all you awesome readers who were like, “um….chill out and don’t wear a bra. It’s not against the law or anything.”). Remember the time before that? Victoria’s Secret. I thought I wouldn’t have to go for a while, after all that. But, and this is my very honest opinion, Victoria’s Secret doesn’t make great bras. And I’m breaking a very, very lucrative contract with them when I say that, so I wouldn’t if I didn’t feel very strongly about it. (I can’t be a sullen sex angel for you anymore, Victoria! I have to be my own person!) The edge pops out after like three months. You know what I’m talking about? That little lip that appears, along the upper border of the cup, and then starts pouting?
So when my mom and I went shopping yesterday, in New Jersey, where they have these crazy things that are, like, collections of individual stores with big parking lots around them, I stopped in at the Maidenform outlet store. And that’s where I became a private detective. Hired by myself, paid in plain donuts and apple cider, but with no less ruthlessly sharp sleuthing instincts than….other detectives. Father Brown. And Miss. Marple.
Mom said, “Do you know about this? You have to see this.” She was pulling me over to the other half of the store (which I had obviously noticed, thoroughly investigated, and stored in my memory for immediate access at another time), where every article of lingerie was constructed to suppress a part of the body. To constrict it into submission. To beat the hope out of it. The truth is, I didn’t know about it. I mean, of course in every lingerie section of every store there are those special leotard things that are designed to hold in the stomach, and spankies, and whatever. But half of this store was devoted to a campaign to control practically every part of the female form. I’m surprised they didn’t have a garment for the face. “Whip that big, Jewish nose into shape with our simple, elegant, practically invisible nose bra!”
I think I made a sound. Like a horrified gasp. A saleswoman turned and looked at me sharply. I smiled. It was probably a queasy, struggling smile. And then I slipped my new phone out of my purse and began snapping photos. Collecting evidence, I mean. Someone was trying to kill the modern woman’s self-esteem. Someone was trying to tell her that everything about her body was terrible and needed to be tightly controlled. Someone hated her, but was smiling a big, fake smile into her face, and telling her, “This is because I know how much you hate yourself already! I’m just trying to help! I’m just trying to ease the pain.” I was on the case.
My phone made a loud, obnoxious mock shutter sound every time I took a picture. I had no idea how to turn that noise off (and after examining the options in “settings” for about twenty minutes, I still have no idea), so I crouched down behind a display, to at least get the salespeople off my trail for a few precious seconds, and kept going. I waited for them to descend on me, rip the phone from my hands, and yell for backup. “Code red! She’s going to post these photos as incriminating evidence on some positive body image blog! She’s going to reveal the truth to the world! She has to be stopped!”
After that I would probably be locked up in a cold, dank cellar and tortured. But I was willing to take that risk.
And Mom seemed OK with the situation. She nodded in approval and pointed to another one. “For your spare tire,” she read.
“What the hell is that? Do I have one?”
It had something to do with rolls of fat on your side, apparently. I was receiving an education in all of the ways in which women’s bodies carried shameful deposits of fat. I was learning even more ways to perceive my own unattractiveness and failure. I was being quickly prepped for the day when I would develop all of these conditions, and be hopelessly ugly.
As for my own, particular problem with runaway fat, the solution was before me:
How had they known? Their spies were everywhere! This was even bigger than I’d thought at first. This might be on the level of a national conspiracy. International? God. Was that possible? So many people involved—all plotting to destroy our ability to like our bodies. MY ability to like MY body. This was personal.
After collecting the evidence, I retreated to Manhattan, and my sleuth lair, to calculate my next move. They’d have to be exposed somehow. And I’d need people on my side. This wasn’t a one-woman operation. I was going to need backup. A lot of it.
An image slipped into my head. From Saturday, when I was performing a Bar Mitzvah service. There was a gorgeous young woman there. She was my age. She was wearing a black dress and black stilettos. And she had a body that was not going to be constrained by anything. I have to objectify her for just one little tiny moment here, when I say that she looked like a fertility goddess. She had plenty of fat on her body. Plenty. And all of it contributed to her stunning look. Her body looked enthusiastic, like it was going to burst out of her clothes. I may have checked her out a lot.
And this is a woman who those schmucks would ply with fat-constraining torture devices like there’s no tomorrow. This is a woman who our culture would be happy to label obese, slap some prescriptions on, and then ignore. If fat is the enemy, then this woman must be like one of those evil temptresses who try to seduce and kill James Bond. He shakes his head, wondering, “How can something so bad for me look so, so good?”
Alone in my lair, pondering the case, I shake my head, too. I adjust my headphones and turn up the music a little louder. The jackhammer hasn’t quit. And neither has my brain. It’s working overtime, cooking up something. Some way to bust a hole in this conspiracy so big that all our fat combined could fit through it with space to spare.
I’ll get back to you when I figure it out. But for now, I’m gonna post some incriminating pictures on the internet.
* * *
Un-roast: Today I love how I can make myself laugh. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, I’m really proud of myself.
P.S. So the campaign by Maidenform is called Flexees. My favorite tagline is “Buy yourself a brand new figure!” And it’s pretty telling that the majority of a Maidenform store is devoted to these styles.
P.P.S. Confession: I did end up buying some underwear anyway. It was 5 for $15, and it’s been like four years since I bought underwear…
P.P.P.S. Talking about this post and this issue over at Daily Living on Blogfrog.
Kate on November 8th 2010 in Uncategorized
San D responded on 08 Nov 2010 at 12:16 pm #
What’s even funnier, is that these “suck it in” garments have become popular with MEN, meaning they have their own brand that they wear. I won’t lie, I do have a few foundation pieces that “smooth” and help me make sure I fit in a certain dress for special occasions. But never would I wear them daily. For me it is all about smoothing the bulges so that isn’t the first thing you notice when you see me dressed up. Otherwise I unroast my bulges. I say that now, as I am on my umpteenth diet!
Christin L. responded on 08 Nov 2010 at 12:29 pm #
This stuff drives me crazy. I’m curvy and hot and I love it. My boyfriend loves it too. And most other males I know admitted love a woman with some flesh and fat and “something to hold onto.” I have my days of insecurity, no doubt, but most days I can salute my figure and wear it proudly.
Ellie Di responded on 08 Nov 2010 at 12:41 pm #
1) Holy crap, Maidenform, seriously? I already didn’t like your brand name, and now I won’t be buying anything from you ever.
2) I haven’t bought underwear in five years. It’s about time.
3) “Her body looked enthusiastic, like it was going to burst out of her clothes.” This made me smile all over. Beautiful.
jolynn responded on 08 Nov 2010 at 1:19 pm #
I love, love, love your blog. You crack me up regularly and you’re so positive for me to read. This stuff honestly bums me out. I want to always watch National Geographic.
Know my favorite part of the Babies movie? Despite the cuteness of the offspring, I loved seeing all of the women in Africa, their bodies and freedom therein. Inspiring.
Samantha Angela @ Bikini Birthday responded on 08 Nov 2010 at 1:21 pm #
I definitely have “body shaping” undergarments. I like them a lot actually. When I’m wearing nothing but those undergarments I actually feel sexy. Like they hug my curves in all the right places. I feel sexier in them than I do in “sexy” lingerie.
Kate responded on 08 Nov 2010 at 2:23 pm #
@Samantha Angela
Thanks for voicing a different opinion. And hey, if it makes you feel sexy, more power to you!
I’ve never felt particularly sexy in “sexy” lingerie.
darryn (brio.gusto) responded on 08 Nov 2010 at 3:40 pm #
Wow. Flexees are taking this to a whole new level. It’s amazing how, as you astutely pointed out, we are being educated everywhere we go, even in the department store.
darryn (brio.gusto) responded on 08 Nov 2010 at 3:43 pm #
FYI, I wrote a letter to the company expressing my disapproval of the line and the campaign (“make room for dessert”? Come on).
Kate responded on 08 Nov 2010 at 3:56 pm #
@Darryn
Thanks for taking action! And for letting me know. They need to be called on a lot of things, and “make room for dessert” is a great place to start.
Dana Udall-Weiner responded on 08 Nov 2010 at 7:41 pm #
Does that label really say “Fat Free Dressing?” Yikes. Frightening that undergarments are marketed like salad dressing. And I’m not sure there’s much power in wearing something called “Weightless Power.” Good job on the stealthy photos. But don’t stop writing to become a detective, please. We’d miss you.
Kate responded on 08 Nov 2010 at 7:48 pm #
@Dana
Maybe I can do both? 🙂
adria responded on 08 Nov 2010 at 9:30 pm #
this takes me back to my nancy drew love affair…
i will admit that i’ve worn a flexees tank top for about 5 minutes. it felt as though it was attaching itself to my skin and latching onto my fat, trying to become a part of me. i ripped it off out of fear that it would turn itself into my outer layer of skin.
Kate responded on 08 Nov 2010 at 9:43 pm #
@Adria
I laughed aloud at that last bit
Wei-Wei responded on 09 Nov 2010 at 12:04 am #
Ew. Those body-control things, in my opinion, are a little gross. Not just a little gross; they’re completely fake and send a horrible message to boot. Also, what happens when you undress and someone sees you in it? It looks awkward, not to mention being a complete turnoff.
zeemaid responded on 09 Nov 2010 at 1:36 am #
I can see when you’d like to have a smooth shape under say an evening dress or something but you’re right, women are meant to look like women not sticks. Never mind that most of those products don’t really do a darn thing for you and just make you uncomfortable.
Anna responded on 09 Nov 2010 at 5:34 pm #
I wonder if later they will discover how bad these things are for you. After all, scientists have found that Victorian corsets actually forced the internal organs into unnatural positions in the torso. And more recently, they’ve found that tight pants put pressure on certain nerves and after approximately three months straight of wearing them, many women’s legs will tingle.
And I think it is also socially unhealthy (as well as potentially medically and psychologically). It avoids the problem with commercial clothes. Oh, our clothes don’t fit your body? Well then, instead of changing the clothes to fit you (because that isn’t efficient or more profitable for us), you must change your body! =/
Sookie responded on 09 Nov 2010 at 11:52 pm #
I didn’t wear a bra for my senior prom, mostly because I couldn’t find it and I decided it wasn’t worth stressing over. My dress fit well enough to hold them up on its own, even though it was strapless, and that was that.
I own a couple of these, because my sister likes to use me as a model for amateur fashion shoots and not only does the camera add ten pounds, it creates rolls where I swear I don’t see any in the mirror. So actually, this mostly relates to the other post of yours– I guess what I’m trying to do is make what shows up in a photo the same as what I see myself as. I’m not sure if that’s saying something for my confidence or against it.
Noel responded on 11 Nov 2010 at 7:43 pm #
And on the flip side, there are sites like this: http://www.siliconebody.com/Product-Info, where you can buy implants to put into your pants or underwear to get that extra “junk in the trunk” look.
Flexees for fat girls. Silicon butt implants for skinny girls. No matter who you are or what you look like, our society will find a way to tell you it’s wrong, and if you can just by this product it will all be ok. Ah yes, the wonders of capitalism.
Kate responded on 11 Nov 2010 at 8:08 pm #
@Noel
Yes! I saw these in the store, too, and totally forgot to mention them! Thanks for pointing this out.
Rebecca responded on 16 Nov 2010 at 4:24 pm #
“Fat Free Dressing”?
Guess which fingers I’m holding up.
>:(
Mandy responded on 24 Jan 2011 at 6:49 pm #
Personally, I think fat free dressing is NOT tasty. Pun intended.
Un-roast: I love the way my butt looks in jeans.