Saint Spanx

My previous experience with shaping (read: internal organ reorganizing) undergarments was a pair of stomach-flattening underwear so tight they could have contained communism.

I was nearing the end of a particularly brutal day of shopping, during which my belly had foiled all attempts at cute jeans, when I stormed the lingerie department, angry, vulnerable, and determined to walk out with a magically shaped and smooth midsection.

I found a pair in the back that looked a lot like a 17th century whalebone corset, perhaps mistakenly transfered from the auction block at Sotheby's to the sale rack at JC Penny (happens all the time, I hear), but I wasn't in any condition to make a good decision, so I bought them. And I wore them, and I learned that you can, in fact, go a day without breathing, although it's not such a good day.

So when it came to the undergarment wunderkind that is Spanx, I took my time jumping on the trend train (that was possibly the dorkiest sentence I've ever written; I apologize).

Sure, I'd heard a few honest celebrities admit their post-baby fitness secrets were nothing more than a pair of these amazing underwear, that maybe they were actually still pregnant, and we would never know because of Spanx's incredible efficacy. I'd listened to my friends talk about their new smooth, pantyline-free lives. I'd heard murmurs that Spanx were being considered for sainthood, because they perform thousands of documented miracles a day.

It wasn't until I found a pair of Spanx Hide & Sleek panties on sale for $10 at Nordstrom Rack that I decided, what the hell, I might as well sheep it up and join the flock (OK, that sentence might have been even dorkier than the first one, but still, if "sheep it up" does not sweep the world as the new hip phrase, I'm going to be very upset).

The only thing I could think of when I put them on was "Let's get that Sainthood thing goin'!," because sweet mother of god did these things deliver. I have quite a few dresses in my closet that I never wear because I prefer that people I sit next to on the bus aren't able to give me an accurate body fat estimate, but when I tried these evil garments on with Spanx underneath, they looked great. No lines or lumps, and they flatten my stomach without forcing my kidneys into my ribcage, which is always a plus. I'm hating myself for writing this, because I'm pretty sure it's an exact quote from a Depends commercial, but they look and feel like regular underwear!

Look, no whalebones!

Overall, I'm hugely impressed and plan to buy a few more pairs in different styles. Spanx makes underwear, nylons, bras, camisoles, etc., all of which have witty names and cost from $20-$60. Buy a pair, and send this form letter to the pope:

Dear Pope,
Please consider Spanx for Sainthood.
They gave me a (circle one): flat stomach/smooth ass/rid me of pantylines/etc.
Trust me, that is really impressive.
Cordially,
(Your Name Here)

Available at Nordstrom, spanx.com, and many other stores and websites.