On Spanx and why they are not—contrary to popular belief—magical creations from a mystical land

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Ahhh...liberating.

There are so many moments in my life when I want to take my fellow woman under my wing. To the girl with the lipstick on her front teeth - please let me discretely indicate that you need to check a mirror. To the girl stumbling around downtown in the seven-inch stilettos that only marginally fit - let us go shop the Naturalizer website together. To the girl who insists on writinggg Facebookkk postsss likeeee thisss - actually, no. I don't want to be your friend.

But this New Year's Eve sent my "helper" instincts (which usually lie abysmally dormant) into high gear. This year, we decided to forgo our usual house party by dressing up and going dancing. As I stood by our table, nursing an overpriced drink and donning festive headgear that was going to leave me picking glitter out of my hair for the next week, I felt the sudden urge to scream at my fellow party goers:

GIRLS. SPANX. YOU'RE DOING IT WRONG.

See, Spanx are meant to supplement what your own body naturally has going on. Unless that dress fits you without any underpinnings, put it back on the hanger and back that mother up. Those Spanx have not magically caused you to drop fifteen pounds. (Celebrity endorsers will try to convince you that this will, in fact, happen. Those people sit on a throne of lies.) Oh, and I know you're wearing a pair because they're peeking out from under your dress. Because they've tricked you into buying a dress that's too small for you.

And before you accuse me of ranting from atop my pedestal, let me state for the record: I own Spanx. I have worn Spanx. I feel that little bit more confident when the lower half of my body is tightly bound in industrial strength Lycra. This last point sits uneasily with my inner feminist. And believe me, I question why I invested in a pair of Spanx every time I suffer the ignominy of contorting my body into unnatural shapes to squeeze my limbs into a tube of spandex. Or when I'm navigating the intricacies of peeing through a hole in the crotch of my nylons. (This isn't too much information, people. THIS IS REAL LIFE.)

But as I was watching the endless parade of girls in too-tight dresses strut past me, wrestling with and clearly uncomfortable in their clothes, I wasn't judging them for wearing Spanx (although the very existence of supportive undergarments obviously speaks to a cultural obsession with "perfecting" women's bodies that is problematic and disturbing). On the contrary, it would completely hypocritical of me to condemn Spanx—in fact, I was wearing a pair under my dress as I walked across the stage to accept my Master's degree. How's that for feminism. And I'm certainly not trying to start a dialogue on how we should love our bodies, flaws and all. Because that conversation has been had. And, quite frankly, no one seems to be listening.

What amazes me about Spanx is that they completely distort their wearers' perceptions of their bodies in a way that other beauty products do not. All beauty products hinge on the implicit suggestion that there are things "wrong" with women's bodies that require "fixing." But the majority of these products, whether they be makeup, or hair dye, or high heels, are visible. They're obvious. They make no bones about their existence. You're not fooling anyone into thinking that your lips are actually that red. Or that your hair has zero flyaways. Or that your cheeks are naturally and perfectly flushed. All. The. Time.

The thing about Spanx is that they're supposed to be a secret. No one's supposed to know you're wearing them. They're what's going on behind (underneath?) the scenes, hiding that cellulite that you're not supposed to have, either. I think it's because they're invisible to the outside world that so many women become completely blind to the realities (notice I’m not using the word “shortcomings”) of their own bodies the minute they don a pair of Spanx. Far too many women—especially in the 18-29 age range, it seems—are buying clothes that blatantly don't fit their bodies in the hopes that a pair (or two) of Spanx will be the solution. I've heard this conversation though dressing room walls. I've had it with my own friends.

Too many women have ceased dressing for their bodies and are instead dressing for the bodies promised by their undergarments.

Of course, a lot of it has to do with marketing. You know what drives me absolutely mental? Using girls who look like this to sell a product designed to keep wayward fat in place:

Because let me tell you one thing right now, Spanx. That girl right there? She is not your target audience. I can practically see her hip bones through her girdle, for Chrissakes.

This is not an entry about shaming women, or their bodies, or what they choose to put on those bodies. But please, girls—get to know your bodies (...that phrase was creepy in my head and is no less creepy in print). Get to know what suits you. Get to know what doesn't. I, for instance, know that no amount of Spanx binding is going to make me look good in a pair of tight white pants. And (because I'm not living in 1985), I'm okay with that. There's nothing wrong with being a size 00 (yes, that’s a real thing) or 16 or 67. But if you're going to try to improve the look of your body by binding it in Spanx, at least hold up your end of the deal and BUY CLOTHES THAT FIT YOU in the first place. I don't want to give you the impression that I spent New Year's Eve silently judging the physical shortcomings of my female peers. I wasn't looking at these women thinking "why in the name of God did she wear that dress?" No, I spent New Year's Eve pitying these women, thinking "why in the name of God did that miserable soul think she was going to be comfortable in that dress?"

Because Spanx are lying to you about your bodies, friends. They're making you believe that you're smaller than you actually are. And when you think you're smaller than you actually are, you buy clothes that don't fit you. And when you buy clothes that don't fit you, you end up spending New Year's Eve wearing a dress that's gradually cutting off the blood supply to your extremities. Spanx claims that its mission is "to help women feel great about themselves and their potential." But it's hard to look particularly empowered when you spend your entire evening fishing your dress out of your buttcrack.

So here's what I say to you, Spanx. Sure you made me look a bit trimmer under my convocation gown. But you're also perpetuating a culture where it's not only okay for women to constantly want to alter their bodies, but also to wear clothes that DO NOT FIT their bodies. It's when we wear clothes that do not fit us that we want to alter our bodies. See the abusive cycle of self loathing you're contributing to?

Power panties, indeed.