I attended the lovely wedding of some friends this past weekend. I watched as they pledged devotion to one another and shared their vows. Bread was broken and rings exchanged. I thought of the beauty of their commitment to one another, and reflected on the similar commitment Kyle and I made to one another almost nine years ago. But what I was mostly focused on was...how bloody uncomfortable my shape-wear made me. I considered how much I dislike the idea of all those confining garments women have used throughout history, and the irony in the fact that I also use confining garments to feel more stylish and acceptable.
I'm familiar with a basic history of corsets, also known as "stays". Women have worn them for hundreds of years to shape their bodies into fashionable form. Corsets were generally worn as undergarments, but were often elaborately embellished. Many materials, including ivory, steel, horn, and whalebone have been used to produce their desired slimming effects. They reached the height of popularity in the Victorian era, but started their decline just before World War I. Corsets were one of many items given up during the war to free up metals and materials for the war effort. There is some debate as to how harmful these garments were to women's health, especially during the Victorian era when tight lacing was the trend.
The image that always comes to mind when I think of corsets is the scene in Gone with the Wind when Scarlet wants to entice Ashley at the barbecue, and insists that Mammy lace her as tightly as possible into her corset so that she can get her waist down to a tiny 17 inches. I've always scoffed at the idea of such an experience. Who wants to be that uncomfortable at a barbecue? Will a guy really notice that extra inch or two on a gal's waist? And if he does, what does that imply, exactly? Health hazards aside, the idea of cinching a woman into a garment merely for attractiveness is repugnant to me.
And yet, I do it, too.
I've struggled with my weight for about 22 years. In that time I have tried any number of methods for appearing slimmer, at nearly any cost. I've subscribed to the notion that beauty is painful. I've spent too much money on garments promising to slim, smooth and flatten. Most of them have not succeeded in fulfilling their guarantees, and those that do result in shallow breathing, lots of skin indentations from elastic, heartburn, nausea, and overheating, just to name a few of the effects they have. In a particularly embarrassing admission, I even used duct tape in middle school to try to "tape down" the excess pounds. Unfortunately, there are some jobs that are too unmanageable even for duct tape. I underwent weight loss surgery, partly for health reasons, but partly so that I would fit into a more socially acceptable weight range. While the surgery went well, recovery consisted of battling a wound infection that took months to heal and left a permanent scar. Just one more example of beauty being painful.
I'm not my ideal weight, and I struggle with that every time I look in a mirror or buy clothes. However, I am starting to see the ridiculousness of an existence of discomfort for the sake of appearance. While I can't promise that I'll ditch the Tummy Tanks and Spanx right away, I am starting to evaluate their worth and how much they might be costing me despite the peace of mind they offer that I'm smoother, an inch or two thinner, more acceptable and therefore more worthy.
I don't want to miss the beauty, fun and poignancy of moments such as the wedding this weekend just to feel adequate. When I am an old woman reflecting back on my life, I doubt I'll remember the importance of shapewear. But I will regret the moments I missed out on when I was focused on the wrong priority.
