I can date my fascination with girdles to a single incident. In the summer of 1954, when I was seven, I had an enormous case of hero-worship for a boy about four years older who lived across the street in our small Midwestern town. I spent all that summer as his devoted sidekick in a "clubhouse" in a part of his back-yard garage. At one point my hero (who had several glamorous older sisters and was probably feeling a great deal of adolescent curiosity) announced that we needed girly pinup pictures in our clubhouse. We had no idea where such pictures came from (or in my case, even what they looked like) so we turned to that stalwart source of sex education in the 1950s, the Sears catalog. Carefully we cut the pages of the lingerie and foundations sections from the book, and posted them in our clubhouse. And at that point, a girdle fancier was born.
At that time girdles were scarce in our house. My mother held up her stockings with either ordinary panties equipped with garter tabs, or a sort of light-control boy-leg brief of puckery elastic — nothing like I saw in the catalog pictures. I did though at that time meet one confirmed girdle wearer: my grandmother, a stout, gracious southern lady who lived in the city. I can't really say how or why, but to this day I have a distinct memory of her pink brocade underwear, and on one memorable occasion during a summer visit I chanced on a discussion in which my mother was inviting her to go downtown for some shopping. My grandmother brushed the suggestion away with a curt, "I don't wish to go in this heat. I would have to put on a corset."
In 1960, my mother had some sort of female surgery, and at that point her girdle-wearing habits changed abruptly. I recall a discussion between her and my father during the evening dish-washing in which she mentioned that she was now wearing a full-strength girdle on the advice of her doctor. My father replied — perhaps with pleasure — "You've never worn anything like that before." My mother added, "I love the support. It is so comfortable."
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Sarong Girdle |
Careful examination of my mother's lingerie drawer over the next few years revealed a new-found preference for open-bottom, high-waist Sarong girdles. (The Girdle Zone featured a photo of one of these recently.) The design — a very comfortable one still occasionally available under other brand names — featured an elastic waist cuff about 3 inches tall, attached to a heavily- paneled body. The rear panel was of conventional form, but the front was made of two criss-cross brocade panels. There were usually four to six garters
She now usually also kept on hand one of another high-waisted style — a very straight, open-bottom design with an embroidered tulip on the well-boned satin front panel. From time to time she also tried all-spandex girdles, such as the Gossard Answer with its distinctive "X" of inner control bands, but she seemed to return to and prefer the paneled design.
My reading in girdles and foundations was by now well advanced. The Sears and Wards catalogs supplied data on basic models and practices. This was supplemented by a careful study of the Sunday New York Times. In those days, a trip through the Times was an escalating trip in girdle education, from the occasional black-and-white sketch in the first section, to the large photo spreads of the society section, and the full page color photos in the magazine. The twice-yearly Fashions of the Times supplement was the climax of the season ( in more ways than one.)
In some ways, though, my reading only caused insolvable puzzles. Women in that day always were pictured in bras, and yet my very attractive mother never wore a bra — and this was the 50's and 60's. This was a cause for some shame, for we young men were very aware of bra- wearing and strongly associated it with female maturity. (I was similarly embarrassed that my junior-high sweetheart, a bright, pleasant, willowy girl, was the last in our class to develop a need to exchange her undershirts for a bra. And I vividly recall the thrill when pre-teen heartthrob Hayley Mills — exactly my age — was seen with the unmistakable outline of a bra under the shirtwaist costume of her latest film.)
Not only was I limited in my first-hand knowledge of the conventional bandeau bras, but I was even more puzzled by the questions of the long-line bra and the "merry widows", "torsolettes" and all-in-ones so often portrayed in the advertisements of the day. The elegance and sensuality of the satin and lace torsolettes — often in vibrant colors and invariably described as "European- styled" -- were something I longed to touch and experience. I was especially curious to learn how the garters — always shown on the outside of the full petticoats in the ads of the period, got inside to the stocking tops where I knew garters had to go.
My only brush with a long-line was abortive and frustrating. My father ran an advertising agency and I often visited him in his office. One day, in a back storage room I found a rather plain white long-line bra under a sheer blouse hanging on a hanger. I can only imagine it was there for some sort of advertising shoot or display. I was fascinated by it and visited it several times (it probably hung there for a month), trying to build up the courage to touch it. Unfortunately, my father noticed my interest in it, and the next time I visited, it was gone.
Entering high school in 1961 brought new dimensions to my girdle experiences. For example, my first confirmation that women outside my family wore girdles came in my freshman year in high school. My language teacher was a pleasant, middle-aged woman who affected a slight Continental flair in her dress -- at least by Midwestern standards. One manifestation was a liking for straight, wool skirts, often trumpet-pleated in the British style . Her favorite teaching posture was to sit on the corner of her desk facing the class and lead vocabulary drill. As she intently prodded her indifferent scholars, she seemed unaware that her garter tabs were prominently outlined against the fabric of her skirt, and that at times the hem of her straight skirt rode up until we could see stocking tops and even on occasion the garter hardware itself.
I had always been a shy boy, and during my high school years my family urged me to become involved in speech tournaments to try to bring me out of my shell. These turned out to be an excellent development experience in a number of ways. In those days, speech contestants were always dressed in their best- suits for the males, Sunday dresses or suits with hose and heels for the girls. I soon learned that the girls' dressing up involved more than just the surface. In a number of types of contests, boys and girls sat in a circle in the uncomfortable school desks, or in classroom style while one spoke in the front. As the tournament progressed, some girls would slump a bit in their seats or cross their legs in the search of greater comfort. The result would great views of stocking tops, panty-girdle legs, garters reaching down from open-skirt or boy-leg girdles, and the like.
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The Maidenform Concertina |
While engaged in this lab-like practical study, I continued to devour all the written (advertising) documents I could find. At times this was of immeasurable value in the evaluation of the real-life material I saw. For instance, the first girl whose girdle preferences I was able to positively identify was an young lady a year ahead of me in school. The elegant daughter of a very elegant mother, all evidence was that she followed the foundation practices outlined by Suzanne, and I had many tantalizing glimpses of her underpinnings (including my first look at a black bra.) Strangely by the standards of the age, we had become close, platonic friends, and we often studied together in an informal way after school. In such situations she would slip into slacks, but, as I was to learn on this memorable occasion, she remained girdled. Slacks in that day (about 1964) were very form-fitting around the hips, with minimum waistband, and were often worn with short knit tops. On this occasion, she was having some trouble keeping the top and the slacks together, and I had a fine view of the distinctive rear of her Concertina panty girdle. (If you've forgotten the Concertina and missed its reincarnation in a recent Girdle Gallery, it was distinguished by a back panel that was separate from the waistband, supposedly offering greater freedom of movement for the wearer , and certainly an unmistakable spotting feature for the glimpser.)
These were truly the great days of the girdle. Images and examples were everywhere. My father's agency received magazines such as Seventeen and Modern Bride that were full of advertisements and serious articles on the seemingly-enormous number of girdles, bras, and other foundations needed in a proper young lady's trousseau. Etiquette books gave fascinating sections on the advantages of the spandex panty girdle over the paneled variety, and the need to keep your seams straight when gartering. Every novel had one or more girdle scenes. (My favorite remains those in Blow Negative, a fictionalized biography of the Navy's Admiral Rickover. From the settings he created, the author surely was an admirer of the girdle glimpse.) Girdles even appeared in the daily newspaper funnies — my secret stash featured clippings of Penny from Captain Easy in a girdle and bra, as well as the Jackson Twins in their boudoir.
In the early 1960s, the shopping center was the wonder of the age, and our new local center was anchored by a large department store with the first escalator in our county. So important were foundations in the that era that they rated a location at the front of the first floor (not second-floor rear as today.) Thus, every visit to the store required several rides up and down the exciting new escalator — which passed right over the foundations department and gave an unmatched and surreptitious view of the Playtex products in the pink tubes and the mannequins with their Merry Widows.
Perhaps my greatest disappointment came when I was not invited to shop for the gag gift we graduating seniors were giving our portly male speech coach. Someone came up with the idea of buying him a girdle. How I wish I could have had the embarrassment and the thrill of helping to shop for the prim, paneled model that was duly presented to him at our farewell dinner!
In comparison to some of those who have described their high school experiences in the Zona pages, I seemed to do a lot of viewing of my classmates' girdles, but little direct contact. I will, however, never forget a discussion with a very glamorous member of our speech team on the topic of prostitution that ended with my hand on her thigh and a clear feel of the panty girdle leg and garter beneath her straight skirt.
I entered college in 1965, as skirts shortened dramatically. Many were the glimpses of stocking tops, thigh, and girdle leg that I treasure from that period. By the time I was a senior, these focused primarily on the wonderful girl who is still my wife.
This lady had a liking for the straight shift dresses of the period and wore them well above her knee. However, as the product of the same upbringing so well described by Suzanne, she continued to wear a panty girdle daily. We would meet for breakfast each morning and it was a definite pick-me-up to speculate on the dress of the day and whether it would be short enough to show some panty-girdle as she sat down. At least once a week she wore a short, pink polyester dress that seemed to have been sprayed on, and in that outfit the glimpses were out of this world.
Since reading Suzanne's memoirs, I have often suspected that my wife understood — at least subconsciously — the power of the girdle glimpse. One suggestive fact is that one evening, after we were engaged, and during a period when we often ended each date with some serious kissing and petting, she invited me into her house with a few words and a very dramatic pulling up of her skirt hem to expose the legs of her panty girdle. She also told me once of a most peculiar fact -- that she had "forgotten" to wear her girdle to the winter formal at which we got engaged. I have often speculated on the meaning of this act of omission.
We married in 1969, and I soon learned that, despite what it said in Modern Bride, my wife's girdle trousseau consisted of only two items: a pink, rather plain, paneled panty girdle for everyday wear, and a very tight, lace-trimmed paneled panty girdle she had worn at our wedding and which now formed part of her dress-up outfit. Her revelation that she had forgotten the girdle on the night of our engagement remained in common discussion, and before each evening out, her memory was ceremonially checked by raising her skirt and slip and ensuring that her girdle was properly in place. I certainly enjoyed the ritual we called "bottom check", and I believe she did too.
A high point of that period was the otherwise-sad day when we helped to clean out the house of my wife's late grandmother. We were surprised to discover that the old lady had carefully preserved two corsets, probably dating from about 1910. Fearsome devices with heavy steel bones and long garters, they fascinated me and seemed to interest my wife a bit as well. She posed for me with them wrapped around her torso and held in place with her hands. But to my immense disappointment, she declined to be hooked and laced , and after the brief demonstration, consigned them to the trash pile.
But all this time the girdle was dying. I believe I saw the last classroom girdle in graduate school in 1970. A plain, quiet girl, clearly out of step with the temper of the times, still flashed occasional glimpses as she sat opposite me in the seminar room. But it was the last gasp of a practice to be seen but seldom thereafter.
My wife stopped wearing girdles in 1971. She complained they were confining and uncomfortable. This is certainly true at times, and I speak from experience (but that's for another web site.) Yet how any woman can chose to relinquish the hold that a well-girdled bottom offers over the man in her life is beyond me. The final blow came one day in about 1974 when she announced that she had thrown out her long-unworn girdles, and mentioned that her friends were doing likewise. Gloom!
I sought to salvage something by buying her occasional gifts of stocking and garter belts. To my surprise I learned she hated garter belts, believing the shifting pull and tug of the garters during movement to be very unpleasant. When asked about the source of this feeling, she makes vague references to extensive, unpleasant experiences with them in her youth. I have often wondered at the source of this opinion. Certainly her mother, a vain, social-climbing woman, must have kept her daughter properly girdled on all public occasions of the 1950s and 60s. If so, in what settings did this garter-belt experience occur?
Despite my hopes from the corset incident, my darling also has never been willing to play in long-lines or bustiers. She will occasionally wear them under low-cut formal dresses, but afterwards, they come off immediately. Again, from a comment here or there, this seems to have to do with ill-fitting garments of her youth in the spaghetti-strap era.
I continue to dream that girdles may return to my home life. This year we both turned 50. My wife exercises regularly, but her love of ice cream leaves a bit of a tummy that never goes away. One day, I caught her viewing herself with some dismay in the mirror. "It looks like it's girdle time again," I said, not daring to hope. To my immense joy, she did not immediately reject the suggestion. Maybe with proper encouragement . . .
Unless this marks a long-awaited change, my home life is now totally devoid of girdles (at least on the female form.) Similarly, the 1980's marked the end -- at least until now -- of worthwhile girdle advertising in the media. There was one memorable incident, though, late in the 80s which provided a painfully tantalizing reminder of the old times.
At that point I was doing a fair amount of traveling among my employer's various offices around the country. Often these trips took me to Dallas, where I met with a lady coworker. I use the term "lady" intentionally — her charming accent, immaculate dress and careful makeup qualify her for that title by the standards of any period, much less the liberated 80's. One day I learned that this care for her appearance was literally skin deep. I was holding the taxi door for her at an airport, while she struggled to slide across the rear seat to the curb side in her straight skirt. As she did so, she gave me an exquisite view of a white panty girdle — all the way up to the crotch. It was perhaps my best — but, alas, so far also the last — girdle glimpse.
What's a girdle fancier to do? I continue to enjoy the New York Times Magazines of the 1960's on micofilm at our local library, and from time to time I have found a library that has a goodly collection of Sears catalogs. But girdles in the flesh (well, on the flesh) are far too scarce.
I continue to hope. A few days ago I was waiting for a flight in an airport. My attention was drawn to a slightly plump, attractive woman in a straight- skirted business suit. After she checked in, she sat down in the uncomfortable boarding-area bucket chair directly across from me. As she did so, her skirt rode up and her full thighs strained against the fabric. I could see a glimpse of white along the sides of her legs some inches above her hem.
Could it be?
Alas, careful and circumspect observation convinced me it was the hem of a lacy slip — worth the look, certainly, but not what I longed for.
Perhaps someday . . .
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Originally Posted December 6, 1997