older blog (2006)

Corsets Do Not Work That Way (and neither do women's bodies)

I believe I've mentioned before, Gentle Reader, that I currently study fashion in literature. I don't much care for Modern Fashion; anything after Dior's New Look makes me shudder, more than a bit. But I adore the Neo-Classicism of the Napoleonic Wars, the rise of the turban in the 1830s, the fall of the crinoline in the 1870s, the height of the Bustle in the 1880s, the rise of hemlines in the 1920s, and my favorite style of the 20th century, Depression and WWII era clothes. All of it, Friends, makes me smile, more than a little bit. Give me a man in suspenders and a fedora and a woman in clunky heels and an A-Line dress, and I am as happy as a clam.

But what Bogie and Bacall fashions don't have, and indeed, what most 20th-century clothing doesn't have is this:

The Corset.

Now yes, of course, the Corset was transformed into the brassiere at some point in the early-20th century. There are many, many books on this subject, Friends, and I urge you to check out Uplift, perhaps, or even the more simply named Bra, if you'd like to read up on the history. But there are equally as many books on the Corset as there are on the Bra.

Of my personal favorites, might I recommend Valerie Steele's Corset, Beatrice Fontanel's Support and Seduction, or Leigh Summer's Bound to Please? All are wonderful works and detail the history of the corset quite well.

These three books might tell you a secret, however. A secret so, well, secret that no one seems to really know it.

Corsets aren't very comfortable. At all.

Sure, the one tailor-made for you is more comfortable than others, because all tailor-made clothing has the fortunate side effect of being rather comfortable. But when you lace a corset around the middle to create that artificial hourglass effect, you are constricting the flow of oxygen throughout your body, not to mention smooshing and destroying your internal organs. This is why 19th-century women would use tightly-laced corsets as an abortefacient, or why young girls' bodies were deformed by age 15 (as most would begin wearing corsets around 12 or 13). This is also why women did not participate in sports, or why when they did, at the turn of the century, diary accounts record how in the dressing rooms of tennis courts, corsets soaked in blood would be strewn about, because the whalebone would pop the lining with all of the movement, and stab the wearer in the side.

Corsets have now become fetish or fantasy clothing, and tend to be represented as the sexiest article of women's clothing. But very few people can afford the tailor-made corset, or even know where or how to get one, so many simply buy the pre-made corset, which fits, but not very comfortably.

And trust me, Gentle Reader. I am a firm believer in Personal Choice. You wear what you want to wear, whenever you want to wear it. I think the corseted women at the Ren Faires are quite beautiful, and many women wear corsets on their wedding days. It's a special article of clothing, and despite its long dubious history in the annals of fashion, it was the only support women had for hundreds of years.

There is the crux of it, no? Women need support, and the corset was the best, and truly only option, until the end of the 19th century. Works like Steele's and Summers' tell us that women did not, in fact, lace their corsets as tight as we think, overall. That the ones who did were fetishists in their own right, or were urging bodies to do things like abort unwanted pregnancies. But the fact of the matter remains: the corset kept women somewhat immobile.

All of this preamble to say that I found This Young Woman's Livejournal this morning through When Fangirls Attack and Ms. Sproutie82 has directed our attentions to This New Statue of The White Queen, Emma Frost.

Now, Friends, much ink, literal and figurative, has been spilled over the Woman (in comics) Question. This Humble Author has, in fact, spilled much of that ink Herself. Recently, some of that ink has been spilled regarding the new Star Sapphire costume which is, as Our Brother and Sister Feminists remind us, fairly ridiculous.

And it is. Movement has been completely discredited in Star Sapphire's outfit, and as for the statue of Emma Frost, which is already sold out, my first thought was, "Dear Heavens, I can see n*pple!"

And here's the real problem: Sideshow Collectibles, I am your market! I am an employed, middle class comic book reader in the 25-35 age range, as is Mr. Reads, who often buys statues and action figures and collectibles for me as birthday, Christmas, or anniversary presents. But he would never buy something like this for me (or, thank heavens, for himself) because its very presentation is so preposterous that I want to laugh, or cry, but am not sure which.

And even Adam Hughes' original art, pictured below the statue, while obnoxious, does not even reach the levels of outlandishness the statue can claim. Perhaps my eyes are jaded; I am used to seeing such things 2D. But seeing it 3D has turned my stomach, and caused me to avert my eyes.

To return to corsets, as a by the bye literary tactic, let me also suggest to you that *corsets do not work that way*, and for that matter, *neither do women's bodies*. With the kind of movement Emma Frost does on a daily basis--the, I don't know, walking down the hallway or eating a bowl of cereal wacky movement of fun--she would soon no longer be employed as an instructor of impressionable youth, much less allowed to walk in public.

And yes, Friends, I know that some of my Dear Readers may Cry Foul and Exclaim, "But Ms. Reads, This Is Fiction!" or, "But Amy, this has No Bearing On Real Life!" To you I ask, but doesn't it? What does this statue say about our desire to see our comic book heroines about to fall out of their tops? Or, in the case of the new Big Barda collectible, to have barely visible tops at all? And all of this not only in comic books, but in $100+ collectibles?

I am not afraid of clothing that is revealing, or of corsets. Nor am I afraid of bodies, or male artists, or sexiness in clothing, art, comic books, or real life. But I am afraid of the message that this statue of Emma Frost sends. Not just about the accepted spectacle of women's bodies in our society, but about the mythical power of bust support, as well. We have fetishized the corset because it represents the Repressed Victorians to us, and the Victorians fetishized the corset because it represented, well, was actually Undergarments, which, for the Victorians, was Quite Naughty Indeed. But there's something unnerving about seeing this translation of print to statuary, of turning 2D to 3D that sends a shudder down my spine.

To wit, it seems Bad Enough that Emma Frost must be The White Queen *in her underwear and high heels*, but to make her bust defy gravity, logic, *and* common sense? That seems almost--just almost, Gentle Reader!--a tad insulting to women.

posted by Amy Reads @ 3:43 PM