Wednesday August 5, 2009 at 10:47 am
Out of style
During my first year of college, I befriended an incredible group of girls who were all a few years older than I was, and moved into their apartment. I also bought a corset. Because I’m peculiar.
Listen, I had no desire to try to make myself any thinner. It was around that time that I began falling headfirst into my obsession with certain time periods, and although I could probably stand around on the set of The Tudors and bark about historical details with the costume designer, I could not, for the life of me, tell you whether or not leggings are still in style. Are they? Do these muddy Nikes go with these lace tights? Because that’s what I wore on my date last night.
That was also the year that The Phantom of the Opera was in theaters, and Emmy Rossum’s waistline sashayed in and scared me half to death. You think Texas Chainsaw Massacre was frightening?
Even so, I was fascinated by them, and began writing a research paper for one of my classes about their history. And with all of that studying and searching, I convinced myself that I couldn’t get away with finishing the project unless I tried wearing one myself.
However, the thing about corsets is, if you want to wear one correctly, you need a professional corset-putter-onner. And so I beckoned for my lady-in-waiting to fetch my Mistress of the Robes so that I may be dressed, and my roommate gave me a dirty look and told me to effing quit it, psycho, it’s 2:00 in the morning, why are you topless, get the hell away from my bed.
But the next day, as I stood gripping the top of my dresser, and she ran the laces through the metal eyelets in the back, I braced myself for the suffocating. Which didn’t happen. Because every time she yanked backwards, she pulled me with her, so that she had to keep letting go of the strings to stop my half-naked self from thrusting into her, pausing each time to consider how, exactly, she ended up living with a prude masochist.
I didn’t give up, and when I went home for Christmas break, I brought the thing with me and asked my mom to try helping me into it. Because who better to inflict the optimal amount of pain on a girl than her mother? And so I stood against a door frame, having the wind pulled out of my insides, suddenly understanding the hidden metaphors of that scene in Titanic when Rose’s mother is forcing her daughter to submit via lingerie.
I lasted about fifteen minutes. I even thought it would be a good idea to attempt driving, except, do you know what those things do to your spine? I was so upright that my neck was convinced it couldn’t move independently from the rest of my body. I was like one of those little tools you use to draw perfect circles. My arms were really the only things that would work freely, and they did, as I flailed for someone to help me out of the car, I can’t move! AND IF I FALL ASLEEP YOU’LL JUST THINK IT’S A MANNEQUIN HELP!
And so, here is where I say, wow, ladies of the past. You and Keira Knightley have some balls.
During my first year of college, I befriended an incredible group of girls who were all a few years older than I was, and moved into their apartment. I also bought a corset. Because I’m peculiar.
Listen, I had no desire to try to make myself any thinner. It was around that time that I began falling headfirst into my obsession with certain time periods, and although I could probably stand around on the set of The Tudors and bark about historical details with the costume designer, I could not, for the life of me, tell you whether or not leggings are still in style. Are they? Do these muddy Nikes go with these lace tights? Because that’s what I wore on my date last night.
That was also the year that The Phantom of the Opera was in theaters, and Emmy Rossum’s waistline sashayed in and scared me half to death. You think Texas Chainsaw Massacre was frightening?
Even so, I was fascinated by them, and began writing a research paper for one of my classes about their history. And with all of that studying and searching, I convinced myself that I couldn’t get away with finishing the project unless I tried wearing one myself.
However, the thing about corsets is, if you want to wear one correctly, you need a professional corset-putter-onner. And so I beckoned for my lady-in-waiting to fetch my Mistress of the Robes so that I may be dressed, and my roommate gave me a dirty look and told me to effing quit it, psycho, it’s 2:00 in the morning, why are you topless, get the hell away from my bed.
But the next day, as I stood gripping the top of my dresser, and she ran the laces through the metal eyelets in the back, I braced myself for the suffocating. Which didn’t happen. Because every time she yanked backwards, she pulled me with her, so that she had to keep letting go of the strings to stop my half-naked self from thrusting into her, pausing each time to consider how, exactly, she ended up living with a prude masochist.
I didn’t give up, and when I went home for Christmas break, I brought the thing with me and asked my mom to try helping me into it. Because who better to inflict the optimal amount of pain on a girl than her mother? And so I stood against a door frame, having the wind pulled out of my insides, suddenly understanding the hidden metaphors of that scene in Titanic when Rose’s mother is forcing her daughter to submit via lingerie.
I lasted about fifteen minutes. I even thought it would be a good idea to attempt driving, except, do you know what those things do to your spine? I was so upright that my neck was convinced it couldn’t move independently from the rest of my body. I was like one of those little tools you use to draw perfect circles. My arms were really the only things that would work freely, and they did, as I flailed for someone to help me out of the car, I can’t move! AND IF I FALL ASLEEP YOU’LL JUST THINK IT’S A MANNEQUIN HELP!
And so, here is where I say, wow, ladies of the past. You and Keira Knightley have some balls.
