Memories of a Girdle-Fancier's Heaven
Before Loehman's became a nationwide discount retailer of women's clothes and accessories, there was one store located on Bedford Avenue in Brooklyn. The "original" Loehman's was a store like no other, then or since.
Fanny Loehman, the founder of this chain, rescued many a garment center manufacturer during the Depression. She used to carry a bundle of cash in a purse, and dole it out to the unfortunate rag merchants who were about to go under for lack of cash flow. Fanny was no dummy. Nor, an altruist. For her considerable largesse, she was given an unwritten promise. If the manufacturer survived the depression and became successful, not only would the loan be repaid, but Fanny was to be given first dibs on overstocked merchandise. This gave Fanny a considerable edge on the competition. She was virtually guaranteed the best merchandise at the best prices, an unbeatable combination.
Fanny Loehman reigned supreme in the world of fabulous fashions for less. She created a store that was the equal of the chicest salons in Paris. Its architecture was, at the very least, eclectic. A little Art Nouveau, a lot of Art Deco and lots of 30's kitsch thrown in. Gold leaf was everywhere, accenting the flocked red velvet wallpaper and the dark mahogany paneling.
There were two floors. The second, was for the more expensive frocks, where models and actresses would come to borrow an ultra expensive gown for an evening. (The publicity was worth every cent to Fanny.) Fanny was omnipresent, sitting in a tall, throne-like chair, overseeing her kingdom. People speak of Colette and her extreme makeup. She could have taken lessons from Fannie. Fannie was tall, 6 feet plus tall. And thin as a rail. Heavily painted eyes peered out intently from a face covered in luminescent white makeup. Her lips were a brilliant red, her hair a blaze of neon orange curls. Oh yes, Fanny Loehman was a sight to behold.
Customers flocked from all parts of New York, New Jersey and Connecticut, to take advantage of Fanny's merchandise. To every girl and woman who grew up in Brooklyn in the 50s and 60s, Thursday night was Loehman's night. The night, fresh merchandise hit the racks.
My wife was one of those girls, and after we were married I had to accompany her to Loehman's for the Thursday night frenzy. There was a reason for this. There were no exchanges or refunds. What you bought is what you owned. So...the married ladies brought their husbands along to make sure it looked good enough to buy.
This is where the fun began.
As I said earlier, the store had two floors. Second story, the expensive stuff. First floor, the bargains.
There were no dressing rooms on the first floor, women had to try on things right there...out in the open. Where were the men? On the second floor, supposedly reading newspapers or books or whatever. The men all went to great pains to feign indifference to the scene unfolding beneath them. But all they had to do was look down, and it was a scene straight out of the Roman Coliseum. Only instead of gladiators fighting for their lives, it was half naked women fighting for the same dress.
The women got so caught up in the frenzy, they didn't bother putting on their clothes after trying on something. They just went from rack to rack in their undies.
It was a girdle aficionado's dream come true.
It was the era when every girl and woman wore a foundation garment. And ever since I first saw my mother in her girdle, bra and attached stockings, I was hooked on the stuff.
The sight was breathtaking. Many of the women, were of course, not all that sexy to look at. But there were more than enough there to warm the cockles of my heart, not to mention the lower regions of my body. And my wife, was no slouch. A beautiful girl, she used to wear open bottom girdles with panties peeking out. The garters were mostly metal then, and they gleamed like chrome on a 1960 Caddie.
The dark topped stockings were merely functional to a woman, but to a man...well...they were the quintessence of sensuality.
The frenzied activity added to the excitement. Bodies were bending and stretching. Breasts were thrust out. Most of the women wore high heels in those days, sculpting their legs, giving shape to even the thickest of ankles. Every brand of girdle imaginable was being displayed: Best Form, Peter Pan, Playtex, Real Form, Jantzen, Vassarette, Maidenform, Vogue, Warner's, Treo, Formfit, Flexees, Bien Jolie.
Every type could be seen: Open-bottoms, pantygirdles, long-legs, all-in-ones, panty-slimmers and hi-waists Many mature women were wearing the classic laced corsets in the familiar pink color, the kind my mother wore.
The women in the "pit" were lit by harsh overhead lights, which cast exciting reflections off the satin panels of their girdles. I had young eyes then and often, I could see a mound of pubic hair pressing against the tight crotch pieces. In those years, the closest thing to available pornography was watching a stripper in a seedy 42nd Street theater. For me, watching the women in the pit was far more erotic.
When I was still in my teens, I read a book by Tiffany Thayer about a young boy who grows up in the world of Burlesque. His mother was a stripper and he followed her from theater to theater. I thought he was the luckiest kid in the world to grow up in an environment where he was treated to unending sights of feminine pulchritude.
I never got to be that lucky, but I got close. Looking for work after my college classes, I landed a job in a small corset and girdle shop close to the campus. When I took my first look at the prominently displayed corsets, girdles, panties and bras, I thought I had died and gone to heaven.
I wasn't being paid much, but the sights alone more than made up for it. In addition, when the store was closing and I was the last one there to straighten things up at the end of the day, I was able to touch and feel the merchandise. God, how soft and silky the satin and nylon and Lycra felt to my fingers.
At first, my chores consisted primarily of stock work and sweeping the floors. Eventually, the proprietor saw fit to allow me to wait on his customers. I was a bit embarrassed, but then I was surprised to see how comfortable the female customers were with me. They didn't hesitate to ask me to seek out a frilly garment in their size. No, I never got to do any fitting in the dressing rooms, but every now and then, a curtain would part and I had, what Hemingway referred to, as a "moveable feast."
Many of the girdles were stacked on shelves in their original boxes. Perhaps it sounds odd, but I got a huge kick out of reading the package copy. The mere sound of the words conjured up images of sensuality.
"This long-leg panty girdles has an elastic-satin panel that runs down the entire front, through the crotch and up the complete back."
"4 fixed metal/rubber garters."
"Shiny satin-like fabric makes up the center front panel, side strips and at the lacing edges. Laces center back with 15 eyelets."
"Constructed of powernetting with beautiful brocade fabric on center front and center back panels."
"Sides and paneled back are Uncovered Lycra for control with lightness."
The job at the corset shop lasted about 2 years. Needless to say, the memories have lasted much longer.
The "original" Loehman's is long gone. The giant gilt lions that stood guard at the doors and the gold plated dummies that displayed the fashions with elan and style, are in someone's antique collection by now.
The girdle pit has been replaced by discreet dressing rooms and husbands no longer peek out from behind The New York Times and the Daily News.
Even sadder, the delicious foundation garments that women wore in those years, have been replaced by control panel pantyhose. Don't get me wrong, pantyhose can be an extremely sensual sight, but oh dear, nothing like a gleaming girdle with its teasing garters framing soft feminine thighs.
Granted, contemporary undies are much more comfortable and most women are happy to be free of any undergarment constraints. But the girdle bespoke elegance and good posture and enhanced a woman's curves.
But speaking for the men of my generation, they were first and foremost a symbol of our sexual awakenings.
How often I think of that first sexual exploration. Nervously raising a girl's skirt and feeling her silky stockings. My fingers, cautiously and furtively continuing its journey upwards, pausing as I feel the bump of the garter holding the nylon top of the stockings. The cold shock of the metal garter, a startling contrast to the warm flesh beneath it. Now, my heart beating furiously in my chest, I take the final leap, my fingers reaching, reaching until finally touching the edge of the open-bottomed girdle. I have found the Holy Grail.
Ah, those wondrous years of youth and discovery. And, of course, the fabulous girdle. I wouldn't have missed them for the world.
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Posted January, 2003