To Spanx or Not To Spanx

control-top pantyhose or how to lose a customer in ten seconds

Its my sister-in-law’s wedding in less than a month.  I am known for procrastinating and so the other day I ran to the local mall to look at a dress.  I couldn’t deal with the uncertainty stress any longer and wanted to wipe it off my to-do list.  I left Charlie with a sitter and had all the time in the world to go to every store and look at anything that tickled my fancy.  I went to the first store, a rather upscale boutique with ladies wear for the 40-80 set.  It has knit dresses and accessories, embellished pant suits and some formal wear for charity dinners, etc.  I don’t know why on earth I decided to go there first, but I did.  Well, no, actually that is a lie.  I probably did because I wasn’t in the mood to negotiate my body into a too-short number made for teenagers.  Post-baby body does not like change-room lighting, let alone that sinking feeling of not being able to get a dress over your hips or, once over your hips, done up properly.  So Aritzia, H&M, Forever 21 and Garage were all out of the question and I knew I’d be dishing out a pretty penny for something suitable that didn't show the bottom of my butt cheeks if I decided to cut a rug on the dance floor.

I knew that I didn’t want to buy anything at a department store because they depress me and the change rooms are always old and dirty and the staff is never that helpful.  Honestly, I once found a maxi pad in a change room at a department store.  I also didn’t feel like hunting through a vast section of mock neck sweaters in every colour of the rainbow before finding “the dress”.  

So I chose this place and decided to take the salesperson up on her offer when she greeted me with, “Good afternoon - can I help you find anything in particular?”  I told her, with a rather pained look on my face I'm sure, what I was looking for and she led me to the back of the store that housed a small selection of what appeared to be tastefully chosen semi- and formal wear for the season.  I immediately gravitated to black because its slimming and lately, I’ve been trying to buy basics that can be worn over and over and refreshed with different accessories.  I chose 3 shortish black dresses in different cuts and sizes.  Its been a while (oh, and a baby) since I bought any dresses.  I made the grave mistake of picking up a 4 which was my size upon graduating highschool.  Was that really 10 years ago? Somehow it is permanently etched in my mind that I am still that size.  Wishful thinking I suppose.  The saleswoman, laser eyes and all, swept in and handed me an 8.  “This is better.” she smiled with a half-pitying, half-sincere grin/grimace.

She led me to my change room and pointed at an array of higheels in varying heights to borrow should I like to see my leg “lengthened” in the mirror once in the dress.  I guess I have stubby gams.  I looked down at my shoes, black Nike hightops and wool socks.  Bad choice for dress shopping.  Don’t ever get me started on the hairy legs.

Too lazy to remove my shoes, I slid my jeans off over them, and put on the first dress.  After wrestling with it to sit properly, I took it off before opening the door to show the saleslady, even though I knew she was waiting to see it.  With the second dress on I was happy.  “Need a zip?” she telepathically asked me.  After I was zipped up, I received the nod of approval from her and shockingly, liked what I saw in the mirror.  The dress was comfortable and quite cute.  I’m sure any fashion mag would approve of its LBD status.

She mentioned a promotion that if I spent a certain amount I’d receive $50 off and so, math not being my strong suit, I opted for a pair of blingish diamond studs to finish off the outfit and bring my tab up to discount-approved status.  As I walked up to the cash feeling quite happy and lucky that I'd found my beloved dress at the very first shop I entered, the woman whispered to me, “You know, we do sell Spanx.”  I sputtered.  “Oh, yes. I’ve heard those are, ahem, effective.” I said, taking out my credit card.  “Shall I include a pair?” she asked. “Barely black are attractive for evening wear.”  Had I said what I was really feeling in that moment, which would be sure to voice a peculiar mixture of shame, saddness, rage and a vague being-bullied feeling, I would have probably made a bit of a scene.  Something along the lines of, “Pardon me?! Are you suggesting that I have a muffin top that needs hiding? Are you implying that I look ok, but that I have unwanted bulges that would benefit from a little harnessing? Well I NEVER!” I would slam the dress down (or maybe even drop it on the floor) and storm out of the store, stomping across its fabric with my high tops as I left.  This is something I visualized doing in the time it took me to swallow hard, keep a fake pleasant smile on my face and sign for my purchase.

I guess my problem is, I find it really hard to take public suggestions on how I might conceal the fact that I created, housed, birthed and fed a human being using my body within the last 2 years.  The fact is, your body doesn’t bounce back perfectly like it appears to in every celebrity magazine and this fact is hard to accept.  When others point it out, well, its pretty infuriating and also heart-sinking.  I’ve tried to rationalize her suggestion, like maybe, regardless of the customer, its her job to upsell Spanx to everyone.  I mean, even if Alessandra Ambrosio was shopping there, would she recommend Spanx?  Oh, I hope so.  I guess this enraged, internalized reflection is probably due to years of body issues and body-image issues, but I felt the need to write about it because, well, its not going away.  Though she stamped "final sale" over my receipt in red ink, she might as well have stamped "saggy maggie" right in the middle of my forehead.