***PREFACE: If you’re a skinny woman who wears Spanx, you will not understand the majority of this article. Also, if you’re a skinny woman, why on God’s green earth are you wearing Spanx?
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I’ve long been an advocate for wearing Spanx, and I personally own several pairs. I even went so far as to thank Sara Blakely (Spanx creator) for her shape-shifting voodoo magic in my first book, #FeelFreeToLaugh. And honestly, Spanx products are ridiculously effective. In the words of American Housewife’s Katie Mixon, if you wear them right they “turn gut into boob.” I mean, how ingenious is that? Finally, someone found a way to make use of middle-aged moms’ gelatinous midsections.
That said, I’d like to publicly declare to the world that this middle-aged mom and her gelatinous midsection are officially giving up Spanx. No, not just for Lent — for good.
I just can’t do it anymore, ladies. Can. Not. Do. It. I don’t care how well they take me from Mama June to Heidi Klum, I cannot bind my body up in that state-of-the-art, NASA-grade spandex any longer.
I went to put on my nude-colored-unitard Spanx this morning, and my body rebelled. Every part of me resisted. “No more bondage!” screamed every fiber of my being.
Spanx are a prison for our torsos. Squirming and hoisting our way into them is akin to trying to stuff ground sausage back into its casing (spoiler alert: it’s a tight squeeze). As much as Spanx spokespeople might claim otherwise, and in the words of the Queen Bey and her Destiny’s Child sidekicks, I often find myself muttering “I don’t think you’re ready for this jelly” as I attempt to climb into a garment that looks like it was made for my five-year-old. So much stuffing and lifting is required in order to get things properly situated that by the time I’m finally locked and loaded, I’m also usually profusely sweating, which is super attractive. Not.
I’m tired of having to exercise top-notch bladder control, ‘cuz we all know that once the Spanx are in place we do NOT want to have to navigate a bathroom situation. Yes, some are made with split crotches to make restroom visits “easier,” but I know we can all agree that those openings are utterly useless. USELESS, I TELL YOU! No matter what happens, do not trust the Spanx pee hole. Or, more accurately, do not trust the female anatomy. This is a disaster waiting to happen, and if you attempt to make use of said crotch split, a disaster WILL assuredly happen (I *might* be speaking from experience here).
If you do decide to wear Spanx, I must say this: once the they are in place (you’ll know when they’re just right because you won’t be able to bend or breathe or feel any happiness), do take a moment to stare at yourself in the mirror. Take in your incredible (completely fake) figure. Your abs (again, a mirage) will be so tight you could bounce a dime off of them. Just be sure not to walk too much or the Spanx will ride up your thighs and cut off your circulation and leave you with a VSL (for you old school peeps, that stands for visible Spanx line, and ain’t nobody wanna see that).
You know Spanx are the worst because the feeling you get when you finally peel them off is the best! It’s like opening a can of Pillsbury biscuits. After you peel back the paper, you tap the can on the edge of the counter gently until…POP! Freedom. If it feels so good to get out of them, why are we subjecting ourselves to these torture chambers in the first place?
Basically, if you want to spend your time in a spandex prison, unable to pee, bend, walk, breathe, or enjoy life, by all means wear your Spanx. As for me, I’m officially d-o-n-e. I’d rather sport my pooch and back fat and love handles, all the while loving my life and not dying a slow death from the misery of it all. People can love how I look or hate it. They can stare at my lumpy self and silently wish they could educate me on the benefits of Spanx. People can think what they will, it’s truly okay with me.
Meanwhile, I’ll be the one who is smiling a real smile and loving life in all of my lumpy glory, simply saying, “Thanks, but no Spanx.”
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