It has to be a very special occasion indeed for me to indulge in corsetry customs. An authentic commitment to those protocols also requires the necessary attention to the rest of my appearance. My makeup must be immaculately applied. My heels must be tall, glossy, and lethal. To conjure a pin-up style also means having impeccably coiffed hair complete with big sleek curls. This makes such a change from my usual lioness look. But, I really have to be in the mood to go for the ultimate corset effect. And, if I am in the mood, I know that I will have to suffer for it.
Let me explain. I loved the idea of corsets until the moment I actually tried one for myself. I mean, they look great. But they definitely don’t feel great.
Putting them on properly is extremely time-consuming and complicated. Getting the laces arranged evenly is a task in itself and so is making sure the corset is pulled in tightly enough. It is always easier to achieve corset perfection with a second pair of hands and eyes to rely upon. But, I prefer not to ask for help. I just want to appear without warning, looking fabulous and all because of my own efforts.
When I’m laced up, that’s only half the ritual completed. There are the stockings to consider, as well, of course. I favour seamed ones which require even more effort. Getting the seam lines perfectly straight calls for a mirror, no end of patience and plenty of stamina. Bending over in a corset means I can hardly breathe or move with any freedom. Then, finally, clipping the suspender belt in place brings that part of the process to an end. Well, it does as long as it is symmetrical.
It’s not easy.
There are, of course, cheaper and more comfortable corset alternatives. There are costume ones without the metal boning. I’ve tried them but they just did not have the required ‘oomph’. Wearing a proper corset is a huge sacrifice to make for beauty but I think it needs to be. As time in a corset goes by, I begin to feel the metallic boning strips rubbing against my ribs. Yes, I know I could have loosened the lace at the bottom but, if I did, it would not look nearly as good. That attention to detail is the biggest draw for the spectator and a big consideration for the wearer as well if I’m being honest. The corset-derived perfection of appearance appeals to my narcissistic side. I love to glance in the mirror to admire my own sculpted cleavage, tiny waist and implausible hourglassness.
When I see my outline in that mirror, it looks as though I’ve been photoshopped. If only I really looked like that without the corset, I think to myself. All of a sudden, I forget the discomfort and just relish my appearance instead. Wearing a corset emphasises all of my voluptuous charms. It is as if the garment acts as a picture frame, highlighting the significance of my breasts and my buttocks for the viewer. In doing so, however, it makes them seem even more desirable and unattainable.
Another factor that appeals is the upright posture that a corset compels me to adopt. It is impossible to slouch while wearing one. My attitude reflects the confidence I feel in the rigid image I project. I have made all of this effort just for this moment, so I am going to be utterly unapologetic about how much I am going to enjoy it. So, I strut around the room in my high heels adoring the hollow sound they make on the floor. I have become someone else. I make no pretence of being polite and my unspoken demand is that you understand my sacrifice and that You WILL appreciate it! When my compression marks are revealed later, I will expect to have them licked, one at a time, before they disappear.
Which is, of course, the best part.