There are many reasons for that, none of which I’ll get into at the moment. My readership is full of lovely people of various theological persuasions, and as an essentially private person, I don’t feel a need to explicate my deepest convictions in a post that is really about my stockings.
However, there are a lot of elements of religion that are pleasing, whether they’re attached to any greater meaning or not. Community, singing together, learning something deeper about one’s values, these are nice. So occasionally I’ll make the Sunday morning meeting of the Ethical Humanist Society, or as we call it at our house, “Atheist Church.”
Please note: “Atheist Church” is a pretty inaccurate description of the Ethical Humanist Society. For one, it’s not strictly atheistic–members have a variety of opinions on the God question. You can learn more about what the Ethical Humanist Society of Chicago is about here.
I was paging through the 1948 December edition of Mademoiselle’s Living (“The magazine for smart young homemakers”) as one is wont to do.
Vintage advertisements are a trip. Sometimes the products are enticing (“Why don’t they make that anymore?”), sometimes baffling (“Why did they ever make that?”). Often they are reeeeeeeeeally racist or sexist. In my perusal of this smart young homemaker magazine, I found a pretty spectacular example of what I like to call the “You know your husband hates you, right?” school of houseware adverts.
First off, this is an ad for a product I clearly need. It’s a folding rack to dry your stockings on. So handy. It just looks like a decorative plastic seashell (so tasteful) when it’s folded up, and then folds down into a stocking rack. Introducing the “SafTdri Stocking Shell!”
The basic pitch is that it’s a small space solution–quit cluttering up your bathroom with your drying delicates. But the best thing is, it will make your husband stop hating you. Continue reading →
Last year, I got distracted from the Vintage Underwear Challenge.
“You keep saying ‘Vintage Underwear Challenge’ like it’s an actual holiday, instead of something you made up,” said my boyfriend.
I wore the girdles, I made it through November, and I posted about it…not so much. Not this year, my friends. This year, I’m committed. I’m all in. You are going to see so many unsexy pictures of me in old-timey underthings, you are going to be sick of it.
Along with your regularly scheduled programming, expect information about building a bullet bra, making your own panties, and why I think foundation garments are maybe a little more feminist than we originally thought.
Today’s ensemble, under my clothes includes
Girdle–The mysterious, got it in a swap, maybe it’s from France (or Canada) probably from the fifties, PINK girdle
Bra–Long line, bullet cups, hooks in the front, has the strongest elastic waistband known to woman.
Knee socks—I haven’t the heart for stockings today, guys. Soon.
On the off chance that you want to join the challenge (experiment with old-timey underthings everyday in November!), I’m using the highly inventive hashtag: #MonthofVintageUnderwear. I’d love to see what you’re wearing, and hear your thoughts about it.
No pictures today, because I’ve been forgetting to have my official photographer take my picture when I get home. Also, it’s dark when I get home, which makes for lousy pictures. Living on the eastern edge of the central time zone means that Daylight Savings knocks us flat in November. “Whhhhhhhhy is it sooooooo dark?” we, the people of Chicago, collectively wail.
Anyhow, I’ve been active and wearing my underpinnings since last we updated, and I have compiled the following list of ten things not to do in vintage underwear.
1. Don’t attend a football game in a girdle. I wore my light, hardly at all compressing one, and a long line bra, and it was okay. At first, I was going to wear much tighter foundations, and then I thought about sitting in bleachers and came to my senses. On the plus side, I was probably much warmer than people who didn’t cover their cores so effectively.
2. Don’t wear stocking with garters to an audition when you’re doing a monologue you usually perform while sitting slouchily. (On the other hand, perhaps I increased my air of mystery with my garter flashing.)
3. Don’t make out with someone while wearing a girdle. It’s mean to try to make another person take it off. Take it off yourself. Also, you might make a slight popping noise when it’s removed, much like a Pillsbury canned biscuit, which could kill the mood.
4. Running is just out. Don’t even.
5. I haven’t tried it, but I imagine cartwheels wouldn’t go well.