Tag Archives: Spanx

The End of Spanx Week . . . Finally

My Gay-Gay, in a famous piece of family lore, ditched her girdle in the ladies room at the officer’s club in Okinawa, Japan, while my grandfather was stationed there.

Clearly, we are a family who is not into rubber slips.  But I survived, and I’m going to be honest–I’ll probably hang onto them for special occasions.  They work, which makes me hate them, but I, being vain and shallow, also enjoy the attention the bring me.  And the good posture. 

Dinner Date #3–Pizza in Spanx

I didn’t tell Chris that he was picking my dinner.  The Deadstring Brothers were playing the B-Side Ballroom, and since they’re on the same record label as Justin Townes Earle, I had to ask Chris to go with me, since he’s responsible for getting me into JTE and we saw him together back when he played Foothills.

But I woke up in a lot of pain because I spent all of yesterday huddled over a tiny picture of a geranium teaching myself to cross-stitch, so after trying a horse-sized dose of ibuprofin, got out the big guns, downed a latte and took a muscle relaxant, hoping the two would balance each other out.

I continued to cross-stitch until my brain went numb, then went upstairs to lie still and hope to God I didn’t sink into the floor like Ewan McGregor in Trainspotting.  When I woke up, I realized it was 5 p.m. and I had a date in two hours.  A date I was wearing heels for.  And the muscle relaxant hadn’t quite worn off.

But I figured if drunk girls could walk in cheap, too-big heels from Rue 21, I could handle myself in Betsey Johnson stiletto booties.  In the snow.  And Spanx.  Because I’m tough.

Chris suggested pizza because he is chill and thus proved Arlene’s rule that it’s better to eat hot dogs with a man than caviar by yourself.  I pretended not to know what I wanted and let him get a slice for me, and he ordered broccoli, which I never get but actually enjoy.  Later, at the B-Side Ballroom, he ordered us french fries, which pretty much solidifies him as the Best Date Ever.  And since I now know the power of Spanx, I can eat junk food with abandon, mwa ha ha!

A few words about Chris.  He’s perfect.  I want to put him up on Ebay.  He told me I looked nice with specifics about my shoes and haircut, let me take his arm so I didn’t fall in the snow.  He is a gentleman of the utmost order, a genuinely good and kind person with not an ounce of malice, even when he’s making fun of people.

He’s also from Cobleskill, my much-hated hometown, so we talked about our alcoholic choir director, little league teams, senior quotes and high school pictures.  I’m not from Cobleskill, I just grew up there, and even though some of us, like Chris and I, manage to escape, it gets in you, stays in your blood like a virus.  But the good part of this is that I can turn to him and point at a guy with a white fluffy mullet and say “Cobleskill Hair” and he understands what that means and laughs.

Chris also doesn’t drink, which is cool, especially because I didn’t want to explain that I couldn’t drink tonight because of the massive doses of horse tranquilizers I have to swallow in order to turn my head.  So we got ginger ales and sat in the corner and felt like teenagers sneaking into the place where the grown-ups have all the fun. 

The Deadstring Brothers had the place rocking.  It was like Roadhouse without the chicken wire or the Swayze.   And when the band called for “Ladies Choice” we slow danced (he was an excellent sport about this even though by that time, Ian had arrived and was talking with a friend), and he smelled like cool water cologne, and he didn’t grope me the way the guy with Cobleskill Hair was doing to his date.  

A note about dancing in Spanx.  You can do it, in theory, but your perfectly sculpted legs are reduced to a C-3PO-like shuffle.  So you’re stuck only moving your arms and your hips, which can look good or it can make you look like a drunk mess.  I like to think that I looked great, but this has yet to be confirmed.


. . . And He Will

We stayed out until 12:30.  I can’t even remember the last time I stayed out that late.  But the B-Side is my new music destination, and Chris is my new music date . . . my Saturday Night Thing, if you will.

Feck Spanx; or My Addiction to Work and Beauty

My associate editor at the paper, MJ, says she giggles every time she sees me, because she knows I’m wearing Spanx.  I love working at the paper, I love being “Libby Cudmore, Girl Reporter,” I love seeing my name in print* and I love getting the paper on Wednesdays and saying, “Wow, look what I did!”  Everyone in my office is grand and I’ve never had a better working environment.

That being said, the Spanx incident has really made my think.  In having a rubber slip squish me into loveliness, the realization that I could always be thinner was a tad horrifying.  I mean, as it is, I just sold a Hot Topic wiggle dress from high school because it didn’t fit anymore–as in it was too big.  The most I’ve ever weighed is 111, and that was for a very brief time.  I still fit in a bikini I bought (also from Hot Topic) in my freshman year of college.  I wear a size 1 juniors in jeans.

But I can always be thinner.

Subsequently, working for a newspaper means being ready to work every minute of every day.  “There are a million stories in the naked city,” my boss always chides when I struggle to come up with something notable to write about.  This is one of the few times in my life where I haven’t been working two/three jobs, but I work –in some form or another–seven days a week.  That’s not a complaint, that’s a fact.

A recent Forbes study showed that women work harder than men.  And we’ve all been told that the harder we work, the further ahead we’ll get in life.  Over a decade working multiple jobs and getting a MFA, and I’m still up to my ears in student loan debt and can’t afford an apartment

I can always work harder.  Anything else is failure.

I realized that this was a problem when on Tuesday night, I had nothing to do.  My stories were all written, my pages were all laid out, there weren’t any meetings to attend.  I had the whole evening free . . . and I had no idea what to do.  I hadn’t had a night off in so long that I had forgotten how to relax.


I Would Wear Triple-Spanx for That Man

So I asked my friend Mike, who works a normal job like normal people, and he was thrilled to be asked because relaxing is something he excels at.  Not in a lazy way, but in a way that he knows the boundaries between work and play.  He told me to watch bad TV or play video games.  Since the X-Box was at the Teen Center and our TV is hooked up yet, I peeled off my Spanx and sat on the couch, watched three episodes of Face/Off and then Justified, which I don’t even like, but, well, Goggins.

Last night, after working another full day doing tear sheets, I came home, made dinner, did some errands and watched Law & Order: Special “No, this isn’t Chris Brown/Rhianna, what gave you that idea?” Unit.  And finally, after days of having my smoothed and shaped butt up around my ears from tension, I relaxed.

And having relaxed, I think I’m finally able to get back to work.  In Spanx.


*And I’ve got a story coming out in the next issue of The Vestal Review!

Day 2 in Spanx

The worst part about this is that today wasn’t so bad.  I almost didn’t know they were there except that they kept riding up, which was okay, I guess, because my sweater dress was a little too short to properly hide them.  Luckily I was sitting all day, so no one noticed.

The thing is that they work. They narrow in my waist and lift up a backside that’s not much to write home about.  And the feminist part of me is really bothered by this.  I’m 5’3″ and weigh 104 lbs, but they can still make me thinner.  Because a woman can always be thinner. 

How awful is that?