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Enjoy it - Viv. Posted by vivian 0 comments. Labels: 20 inch , corset , corset videos , corsetry general , tight lacing , underbust corset , waist cincher.

Corset Video - Self lacing into a 20 inch underbust corset. Completly closing the corset!!! The result is an amazing tight laced hour-glas figure!!!

Labels: 20 inch , corset , corset videos , self lacing , tight lacing , underbust corset. Corset Video - How to put on an underbust corset.

If you are clueless about how to put on your first corset - this video shows you how to put on an underbust corset by yourself.

A really useful and nice demonstration by "What Katie did". Labels: corset , how to , self lacing , underbust corset. Corset Video - Self lacing of a black underbust Corset.

In this corset-video a cute girl laces a black underbust corset over a nice white dress all by herself.

The corset is about 20 or 22 inches - and not fully closed ;. Enjoy - Vivian. Labels: corset videos , fashion corsets , self lacing , underbust corset.

Corset Video - very tight corseted model. This video is made on a fashion show of Thierry Mugler - showing a very tight corseted model. The purchase of a corset seemed to imply to these ladies that a lifelong confidante was also acquired as part and parcel of the service.

A corset is hardly a complex garment although some of the creations that these old biddies ordered were indeed not easy either to don or to remove.

How many times was my correspondent called out late at night to help some arthritic victim release herself from her stays?

Certainly, the 'Thief Knot', that is a knot tied in a particular way so that any illicit undoing of the knot will be obvious was used by jealous husbands when fastening their wives' corsets.

This tale had been backed-up on several occasions. More than once at bed-time, the poor fitter was called out to untangle the back-lacing on some poor old biddy's corset!

The charming lady on the right was asked to try on a relatively simple Spencer front-lacing corset. Despite being in her 80's , she had never worn such a device although knew exactly what was required.

This didn't stop the inevitable tangle that sooner or later had to be sorted out by a friend! My Mother-in-Law used to drive me to distraction. She visited all too often and from the moment of her arrival to that of her departure, she recounted a litany of her ailments.

Her teeth, her back, her legs, her neck. All seemed to rebel against their owner. Everything she wore seemed to be 'surgical'. Her surgical stockings and surgical corset might have thwarted the aches and pains, but in concert they caused her to walk like a marionette.

Occasionally, her ensemble was joined by a surgical collar when a trapped nerve in her neck caused her to lose the strength in her left arm.

The benefit was less chatter, since talking through clenched dentures is not easy; the disadvantage was that she needed to be unlaced from her complex foundations at night and re-assembled each morning!

A knight in armour would have been less bother. We received a similar missive and I'm not surprised. Older ladies love to talk about their ailments - Ivy.

Granny used to talk freely about her surgical corsets and surgical stockings. I wondered why her bra was never called 'surgical'; it certainly qualified on lacings and number of bones!

My sister and I used to snigger out of earshot "I wonder if she's got her surgical teeth in today? Another reference to armour: R's mother was anything but coy about her underwear.

Watching her sit down was basically fascinating. She'd lower herself gingerly toward the chair and then, unable to resist gravity, she would collapse into the seat.

She would exhale noisily, the seat would creak and her thighs would spring apart revealing her old-fashioned bloomers. Most dramatically was the alarming rise in her bust, as her corset impacted the seat and forced everything violently upwards.

She hoped that the ill-fitting garments would lose her the client forever! Despite the fitter's protests, the client prevailed and a month later was fitted with her new corsets.

She then had the nerve to complain that they fitted badly and refused to accept them. This could have cost the fitter dearly except for the fact that they actually fit her quite well and she wore them regularly against all the advice from her training for several years afterwards.

My aunt was very proud of her erect posture and frequently admonished the younger generation for their dreadful slouching. We all knew that if the younger generation wore corsets like hers, they would have perfect posture as well, but we were far too polite to mention it.

What do you mean by that? I explained to my aunt that, indeed, the bones in her corset were quite visible when she bent over.

She was mortified that people knew her secret! On the bowling green at Eastbourne I was involved in a mixed tournament. My partner was a lovely, if rather stout, elderly lady and an excellent bowler.

Half way through the match I realised that the sprinkling of spectators were amused by something when it was my partner's turn to play.

I moved behind her and realised that as she bent to play the ball, the ridge of her corset top was revealed taut against her blouse.

Each time she played more and more of the blouse was pulled from the waist-band of her skirt. I discreetly drew her attention to the fact.

She was most grateful but it ruined her game, and I suspect the enjoyment of the crowd! My father used to comment that women had an unfair advantage at bowls because of all the elastic that they wore.

My mother agreed about the elastic she always wore a firm girdle whatever the occasion , however, she maintained that it put women at a disadvantage.

In the snooker hall of the Conservative club in Stafford there used to play a disagreeable fellow. We laughed behind his back since when he leant over the table to play, the outline of a surgical corset was clearly visible.

He was notable for taking his ale from a quart tankard although not in the presence of his wife, who was similarly abrupt and 'tweedy' in that ex-military family sort of way.

I suspected she was as stiffly corseted as her husband, for when she sat down her back never left the vertical. They were a classical 'shoulders back, stomach in' couple, and with the sort of corsets available then, there would probably be no other choice!

On other women, the same watch would be fine. But I wonder if he has a point. Famed Olympian and golfer, Babe Didrikson Zaharias, was once asked how she managed to hit yard drives.

Some women are incredibly coy about their underpinnings, whereas others blether on about their latest girdle or corset that's when women wore such things of course!

The most devious lady of my acquaintance regularly hung out her Monday washing that always contained a few modern panty-girdles.

These weren't part of the wash, simply a ploy to show the neighbours that she was 'with it' this was about , and had kept her figure.

Her fitter, and the corsets that dried discreetly in the airing cupboard, told another story. The panty-girdles were her daughter's cast-offs!

She was a member of the Salvation Army and had strong attitudes towards drink and staying out late. Every Thursday wash-day, the hot water pipes in the kitchen would receive their weekly insulation in the form of a pair of sturdy pink corsets wrapped around and between them.

I knew granny wore corsets but this was the only time I saw them in detail, as mother roped me in to help with the unaccustomed hooks and laces.

Still, she looked very smart, if slightly red of face, but the uniform was awfully tight. Still on the subject of the WRNS or any uniformed service I imagine , keeping stocking seams straight on parade and maintaining the requisite tightness of stockings and shirt lead to numerous tactics.

An acquaintance who was in the WRNS for two decades swore by her six-suspender girdle. Any less was to court disaster on parade.

A firm brassiere was essential whilst marching, and her shirt bottom had several hooks sewn on to attach to her girdle in the manner of a brassiere's girdle hooks.

Airline stewardesses went further, and more than a few airlines supplied their stewardesses with blouse-knickers combinations.

As is so often the case, a recollection placed on the web-site elicits an enthusiastic response in kind - Ivy. When I was in the Wrens, the drills and marching played havoc with my legs and I decided to wear a pair of support stockings underneath my service issue blue pair.

I hooked the support stockings onto the side suspender of my girdle and the service blues onto the front and back. I hoped that if the single side suspender let go, friction against the other pair would hold them up.

We received a swift riposte on the story above - Ivy. I was never in the forces, but I did try exactly what the lady above recommended. It might have worked for me in the old days of the knobby suspender button, but I tried it with a standard Marks girdle and the middle buttons would simply let go after a while.

I'm afraid friction was not sufficient to stop my support stockings from descending embarrassingly down my legs in a fashion made famous by Nora Batty!

The solution was to sew on extra suspenders. In the 's, my mother wore a corset as she always had done, I wore a girdle and my daughter wore a panty-girdle.

We were all fitted by Mrs. S of Winchester. Towards the end of the 's my mother died, unchanged in a lifetime of habits, and I adopted the panty-girdle as my friends were doing.

Still Mrs. My daughter, suddenly inspired by the freedom of university, disposed of her panty-girdles but I rescued these expensive items and waited.

She wore them and swore that the confidence they inspired helped her land the job. Wearing her corsets over her nightie, she was rummaging around the front garden.

I found the teeth amongst the ruins of a shattered glass and returned them to their grateful owner. How they got there I do not know. Some things are better not asked.

Virtually unknown today of course, thirty years ago, there were women who had worn corsets most of their life and any physical effort without their support was almost impossible.

Gerald Durrell and Ian McRoberts both describe elderly women arising from bed and putting on their corsets before venturing further.

My mother's sister gave her a brand new Excelsior girdle that she had tried on but was too tight for her. It wasn't my mother's brand which was Marks but it was her size and she was far too thrifty to refuse the gift.

A few mornings later, I heard 'language' coming from her bedroom and I went in to see what was up. The girdle's zip was on the left hip, not on the left front as her normal ones and she had managed to do up the girdle all twisted round.

She was trying to wriggle it round without unfastening it. She persevered, however, either the girdle went on twisted, or my poor mum's back was twisted as she tried to do up the hooks-and-eyes under the zip.

How she suffered with this unaccustomed garment every other week until a year later when it was consigned to the dustbin.

As panty-girdles came into vogue, mother showed me the Spirelette catalogue and I was fitted for a long-leg model that according to the brochure was aimed at the young market.

When the girdles mother ordered three arrived I was horrified at their weight and firmness. I called them my chastity belts which caused mother no end of concern since I had just discovered boys.

I suspect a Spirelette was the culprit - Ivy. Our young son was always amazed at these heavy garments and would ask what they were.

I would explain that older women wore them to keep their figures trim. To this he would ask if I wore them. How do you explain to a seven year-old that a 36 year-old mum is not an older woman.

At this my 10 year-old daughter assumed a haughty air and announced that in a few years, she too would have to wear a girdle.

When 'Bob-a-job' was common Boy Scouts searched the area for job to do. One shilling - a Bob - was given to the scout movement for each job my son used to roam the houses of our neighbours.

Apparently one arrogant woman, who I disliked, had little time for boy scouts and in an effort to be rid of him just handed him a plastic bag and told him to dispose of it somewhere else.

My son's curiosity was aroused why didn't she throw this in her own bin? They became a clandestine trophy of his troop, and I got one up on my snooty neighbour!

I visited the daughter of a famous British politician this was in the mid's to fit her for a girdle. When I arrived at the house, a party was in full swing although it was early afternoon.

The lady was gushingly enthusiastic and wanted to be fitted in front of her friends, however, I had my standards and refused. Reluctantly she retired to her bedroom where the fitting was accomplished.

What a sign of the times. Even when intoxicated, a women put a girdle fitting high on her list of priorities - Ivy. The husband of another famous politician related how his wife practiced an entire speech before going to bed clad only in her bra and girdle.

She was highly animated in the theatrical way that politicians affect and it was all her husband could do to stop laughing out loud!

Her husband's reply of "No Darling, just looking! I love understatement. This gem comes from the dressing rooms back-stage in New York. Everyone turns around, and suddenly Ethel Merman bolts into the corridor, wearing only bra, panty girdle, hose, platform shoes, wig and jewelry.

Somebody asks, "Is anything wrong, Miss Merman? I can go into a ladies' room any time and emerge a complete Amerikanka , full of indignation and waving dollars.

A woman would never do that to another woman. At a diplomatic party in Argentina, a British diplomat was heard to remark on the elegance of the women.

His wife was less enthusiastic. An old school friend was staying with me for several months whilst her house was being re-decorated after the death of her husband.

Being a widow myself, I was grateful for the company, despite her rather forceful manner, and we got on as well as in the old days.

After the first week I was horrified to see that she had washed a pair of corsets and hung them on the washing line to dry. I certainly didn't wear such things and I didn't want my neighbours to think that I wore them!

Trying to explain that diplomatically to my friend caused quite a discussion since she was the sort who cared nothing for other peoples' opinions!

She even got one back on me by suggesting that a corset might improve my figure! There was a temporary cooling of our friendship that thankfully didn't last the day; however, she dried her corsets in the airing cupboard thereafter.

I was getting dressed one morning this would have been around and forgetting that it was the weekend wandered to the bathroom in my underwear.

I was shocked to bump into my teenage son emerging from the bathroom and, unusually was lost for words or actions or anything; I just froze.

He recovered first and said "You look good, mum; but why don't you wear a panty-girdle? How DARE a year-old have views on such matters?

As a teenager in the 's, I was called in and not for the first time to help my granny lace her corsets. She was accompanying granddad to some function.

I was quite impressed by these 'evening corsets' being far more Victorian looking that her normal day corsets. I must have indicated some confusion for she added "That will be be my eyes popping out!

A customer's corsets had been returned for repair. Corsets are rather intimate and do get soiled and therefore must be laundered prior to return.

Although this lady's corsets had been cleaned, there was permanent discoloration outside the corset on the back laces at the bottom. The cause for this stumped my friend until the old lady explained that those were the marks left by her husband's boot when he tightened the laces!!

My son must have been only nine or ten when he returned from school one day and asked me "What's a girdle? Better to explain and get it over with rather than let him develop some terrible closet desires later on.

I explained all about girdles and corsets and even selected my expensive Excelsior girdle from the wash to demonstrate what these garments look like.

He looked on in that irritatingly blank manner that confused children adopt and after some time said "I thought a girdle was for cooking! Here was I trying to avoid confusion and I had done the opposite!

A girdle is a Scottish iron plate used for scone making - Ivy. At the Eastbourne Hydro, a hotel that used to be patronised by geriatrics, I heard an elderly lady booming away to her companion in the manner of the rather deaf "I really can't get on with these new corsets!

I did fine. I'm no goin' tae wear Spirella corsets and tha's a fact! Across the street was a huge advertisement 'Wear Spirella corsets'.

My husband received this story warranted true from a Scottish policeman. Policemen were also called 'Peelers'. The secretary at a doctor's surgery in the late 's was sentenced to a three months suspended sentence for altering the order form for a surgical corset that had been prescribed for a local woman that the secretary loathed.

She had subtly reduced the waist measurement and increased the length and weight of boning that turned the corset from a comfortable support into an item of torture after a few hours wearing.

The victim was the magistrate herself who extracted this just revenge on the secretary. History does not relate if this intriguing battle was ever continued.

A fanatical bridge player used an opponent's corsets as a weapon against her. The opponent wore corsets of such a severity that she could only sit in the most upright of chairs.

Our fanatic always arranged the seating so that the poor woman sat for hours in the softest and least supporting chair that she could find.

Her concentration never lasted the match and the hostess unashamedly won a regular income from the unfortunate woman.

When she went to her room each night I could hear this terrible ripping sound. My mother explained that it was the velcro on her corsets!

On the death of my aunt, my uncle asked my mother and me to help clear out her 'effects' her clothes and smalls. These were dutifully sorted for the charity shops until mother exclaimed "Well!

I never knew she wore these! These lace-up items that bore the Spencer label were 'rescued' by mother for more discreet disposal as she tut-tutted about the vanity of her poor sister.

Good for you Auntie I secretly thought! I had always admired her figure. When shopping for a new girdle with my mother, she always used to exclaim "If it can't stand up for itself, it won't stand up for you!

There was little more in the way of 'sound effects' other than some rustling and the swish of a long zip being closed. I dressed quietly and exited my room as the occupants of the other room emerged.

What a contrasting pair! One lady was short and barrel-like, the other tall and thin. Who was lacing who remains a mystery but both women seemed pretty well corseted to me, for neither could descend the stairs with any ease at all.

A dear old lady of our acquaintance passed away last month. She was 99 years old and fiercely independent until a brief final illness.

Her niece, who stayed with her during her last failing weeks, simply noted that she needed help with her elastic stockings.

She managed her own corsets to the end. My sister returned from a teenage party this would be in the early 60's earlier than expected and rather red-faced.

Our anxious mother was concerned for a variety of reasons and the interrogation began within seconds. She stormed upstairs where I found her struggling out of her not insubstantial panty-girdle.

The marks of the bones were livid on her pale skin. No wonder she had come home. I noticed that mother found it all rather amusing and she explained later that only one foundation garment is required; two simply adds to the bulk and discomfort.

Personally I preferred none at all, but that was quite unacceptable then. Our mother used to let us play with her cast-offs for fancy dress.

Occasionally this would include her girdles and corsets. She showed us how they worked and we knew by then that they helped mummy with her figure. Whether she hoped this would lead us to wear 'proper' underwear we never knew, but my sister always wore firm foundations from the time that mummy allowed her, whereas I avoided them like the plague.

Going back to a simpler time in the late 's, my wife and I used to tow the old caravan down to Dorset every summer for our holidays. Although we had been married for a few years, my wife was very coy about being seen in her 'smalls' as she used to call them and would take the opportunity of my morning walk to the camp shop to do what was necessary to complete her toilet and assemble her person for the day ahead.

It always amused me to look over my shoulder and watch our tiny caravan lurching on its springs as she completed some complex part of her morning ritual.

I guessed that the 'donning of the girdle' was to blame for I had seen a box in the litter advertising Marks and Spencer's best and strongest for a waist of 28 inches, whereas I'm sure my wife's waist was bigger than mine at 32 inches.

One rainy day I abandoned my trip to the shop and knocked politely on the door before I re-entered our caravan. My wife had her girdle at 'half mast' as it were.

I was amazed that this woman who needed help to open a simple jar top could force two sides of industrial strength elastic to meet across six inches of quivering abdomen.

The result however was very impressive and I said so. After that, she was never coy again. I knew her secret that most women shared in those days but I appreciated the effort involved and she was happy.

I hate shopping as much as my wife loves it; the only time it brings any pleasure to me is when she visits the 'ladies department' to buy some new underwear.

These days it's only bras and nothing like as interesting as 45 years ago when we were newly married. Early on, I watched her pick up three panty-girdles in three different sizes.

Strange, I thought. Do women buy girdles for each other as presents? I would have thought that could easily be misunderstood.

My wife explained that all were for her. The 26 inches girdle was for weddings and best wear; 28 inches for friends and neighbours and 30 inches her actual size for comfort and everyday wear.

I barged into our dressing room to find my wife engaged in the extremely private and female task of trying to get the hooks and eyes of her girdle to meet.

I was ejected in short order and marvelled at the power I had witnessed in hands that apparently could never remove the top from a jam jar!

Before retiring that evening, I noticed the girdle discarded on her chair and dared to take a look at the waist size.

The label proclaimed 28" and the lack of fading suggested that this was new and therefore close to its intended size.

I knew for certain that my wife's relaxed waist exceed 34". No wonder she struggled, however, the result was a very sleek silhouette.

I had no complaints at all! I was on a tram in Amsterdam one evening many years ago. The Dutch are famous for not closing their curtains and every tram ride was a series of cameo glimpses into the Dutch way of life.

I witnessed eating, watching TV and amazingly one night, a lady disembarking from her corsets. That her hair was in curlers detracted from the potential eroticism, but the scene was etched indelibly on my mind.

We were giving my elderly granny a lift home after a stay of several weeks. The car was loaded with her belongings and on the corners, the car's lurching caused a strange groaning sound from the suspension.

She laughed, but night-time thoughts are the bane of the elderly and she phoned me the next day to ask in some concern "You couldn't really hear my corsets could you?

Why was it that a girl could romp and play in that indestructible way that all children possess until somewhere in mid-teenage when, unless covered from shoulder to knee in layers of industrial strength elastic, she would somehow fall to pieces?

I have read on these pages how the daughter would reject the underpinnings of a previous generation.

I have an example of something entirely opposite. In the early 's, my teenage daughter was a huge fan of the Springfields, in particular the female singer Dusty.

Against my wishes and copying her heroine, her eye make-up became more and more pronounced, although I had no objection to the tight fitting all encompassing satin blouses and flamboyantly petticoated skirts.

One day she approached me as she was preparing her ensemble and asked with some embarrassment if she could borrow my corset. I dug out the white laced article in question that I had bought years before at Dickens and Jones.

Fastening it around my daughter we laced about three inches off her natural size, far more than I thought healthy, but my daughter was delighted.

For a girl effectively covered from neck to knee, I felt that the combination of the narrow waist, the impossibly flared skirt and the shiny blouse were very attractive.

I was somewhat concerned that the teenage boys would think so too! I well remember wearing a similar outfit when I was a teenager.

In those few years between the 'sensible' 50's and the 'bra-burning 60's', I wore a panty-girdle and bra; both were boned as well.

By the standards of the day, a boned undergarment on a thin teenager was certainly not exceptional. I remember that my outfit sported a broad belt, just to make the point of the attenuated waist.

No Victorian corsetted heroine ever sported the weals that I did after an evening thus attired! My daughter recently discovered 'shapers' and discovered, as I did many years ago, that wearing more than one foundation garment compresses the torso about as much as the extra layer of elastic adds!

If the first girdle doesn't get you into the dress, the rest won't either! My daughter discovered an old trick that I used to employ to pull the zipper up on my girdle.

Instead of the pathetic little ribbon usually supplied at the end of the zipper tag, I tied a firm piece of string. My daughter also discovered the down-side of this strategy when she was struggling into her girdle one Saturday night.

She pulled the tag clean off the zipper that was then left jammed at 'half-mast! Returning hours later she uttered a heart-felt "My girdles are killing me!

I got my first grown-up panty-girdle when I was about I felt so proud now that the womanly things in life like make-up, heels, proper adult clothes and all the accoutrements were permitted to me.

Shortly afterwards, I was helping my mom by bringing in the coffee for the bridge friends an adult game still denied to my developing brain and I overheard one of her friends say "I see Stella's into girdles now.

Was it my age and demeanor, or was it the slightly controlled way that I walked? It is strange how an off-hand comment can ruin a girl's confidence.

I grew up in the suburbs of Washington, DC in the s. From about on I had a girlfriend who was actually from up in Canada. She wore girdles regularly any time that she was out in public.

I would have preferred to do it myself. The second time, I insisted. We were almost through dinner, and Mom offered her a second helping. My year old son wandered in from the garden one summer's day and I could tell that he wanted to ask a question but was embarrassed.

All mothers will know the feeling. What is coming next? What answer will I be able to give to possibly a difficult question?

Can I palm this off on his father? I explained that his sister has reached that certain age when she was becoming a woman and needed more support than that provided by a simple pair of knickers.

I explained that the garment was called a girdle. He nodded. So I lied about them drying better indoors around the hot water pipes.

Problem solved! In order to make a point, a young thing from the country determined to enter this hitherto male bastion to have a game.

Although she was rather attractive, no man dared to play with her for fear of the opprobrium from his peers.

Eventually, the girl's mother joined her for a game that was watched avidly by the men. The snide comments did not help the standard of play which was a shame since the girl had quite some skill.

The mother, however, was less successful at the sport since it was quite obvious that her corsets prevented her from bending fully to address the ball!

As she lowered her torso to the table, her corset would only go so far until it ridged up alarmingly through her blouse. The pair retired embarrassed to the lounge and the snooker room returned to its male preserve thereafter.

As a youngster, our family regularly stayed with my mother's sister who lived in a rambling house just outside Chichester. Aunt Madeleine was rather good-looking despite her years and was always immaculately turned out in contrast, I have to say, to my dear, but somewhat dishevelled mother.

Auntie always appeared long after the rest of us in the mornings and expected breakfast to be laid out on the table. She ate with delicate precision, a hallmark of everything that she undertook.

The house was grand and extensive and during the day time we played in the corridors. It was, ironically, a lovely house for the family that Aunt Madeleine never had.

Only at night did the corridors take on a slightly sinister aspect and my sisters and I revelled in the telling of ghost stories. I remember one night creeping along the gloomy corridors to 'spend a penny' when I spied at the other end of the hall a shambling creature that shuffled along.

It was draped in a shapeless cape and by some trick of the moonlight its ghastly white face and hideous shrunken mouth were revealed. The creature was bent over and its claws seemed to hold something heavy in front of it.

The image was burned into my retina and I'm afraid it gave me nightmares. I was terrified to 'spend a penny' at night and my sisters wickedly added to my fear by telling me tales of 'the Groke', a shambling evil monster from the Norwegian Moomin genre.

Only much later, my mother, being concerned that I was sleeping badly and becoming tired, explained the truth that 'the Groke' and my aunt were one and the same.

I got a potted lecture on how women 'take care' of their appearance and the appurtenances required thereof. All I had seen was simply my aunt in a voluminous house-coat, sans teeth, wig and make-up heading for the bathroom.

The heavy weight she carried was simply her stomach, that being used to corsets for many decades needed to be supported during her un-corsetted night-time perambulations.

Spencer demonstrate in , the positive effects of a well-fitted corset. In a similar vein to the 'groke' story above , friends of my parents used to visit and stay overnight from time to time.

The husband was a large, shambling 'hail fellow well met' sort of chap whereas his wife was tall, thin and very elegant.

Everything she did was measured, her speech, her movements; all were carried out with delicate precision. I remarked on this to my mother who seemed to take it as some sort of personal criticism that was not intended and being unusually catty she retorted "She talks and moves just as fast as her dentures and corsets will let her!

I can understand why weddings bring out folk in their best clothes, but why oh why don't the women break in those new shoes and corsets before suffering agonising hours of standing around at the ceremony.

I remember well an old friend of my mother who decided that her cigarette-stained teeth let down down the rest of her admittedly elegant appearance. I saw the woman two weeks later at a rather posh wedding and it was pitiful to watch her struggling with her teeth.

She was "corsetted half to death" as my mother put it and obviously in agony from her pointed shoes. She looked fantastic provided she stayed still and didn't attempt to speak, but it must have been a horrible experience for her.

Years and years ago when I was a child, I remember taking a holiday with the family to the Massif Central in France.

We stayed at a lovely hotel in forests by a lake. To my parents, the only drawback was the hard seats in the dining room.

This was no problem for me since the staff gave me a cushion to raise me up to the table height. Each evening at dinner, I was fascinated by a couple of elderly women who sat at the table adjacent to ours.

They always arrived 30 minutes after us for a later sitting. Both were thin, very old-fashioned and although they spoke English one was obviously foreign Danish as it turned out.

What intrigued me was when the Danish lady sat down, cautiously I might add in that elderly way, there was a distinct 'thunk' from the chair at which point the lady's shoulders appeared to rise alarmingly.

This was so fascinating that I waited for the performance at every meal. We got chatting to the ladies and eventually, the Danish one explained her predicament I think my interest was a little to blatant!

I need them for my back. When I sit down, the steels hit the chair and the corset forces my shoulders up. It's terribly uncomfortable.

The women proceeded to discuss the merits of their foundations whilst my father and I grew more and more embarrassed.

I wonder to this day, did the women extract a subtle revenge for my undisguised interest. Going to university, particularly if one comes from a sheltered background, can be something of an eye-opener.

My mode of attire was a dangerous waste of elegance and within the first term, I had copied my peer group as one will always do and wore slacks and a blouse with a bare token nod to any sort of foundation garment.

My arrival back home on holiday was greeted enthusiastically by my father, less so by my mother. You are undressed!

My peers were aghast about my lack of spirit and rebellion, but I told them "My parents have given up a lot for me, it's not much to ask for me to dress the way mum wants when I take advantage of their hospitality.

I often criticised my husband for his 'male blindness' to all matters domestic, then one day as we were about to go out, he commented "Your girdle's making a lump underneath your skirt!

I was very conscious and proud of my sleek appearance. I was seething but at least my husband still regarded my derriere from time to time.

If the girdle is rolled off the body, the bones will eventually set with an outward curve. A lady of my acquaintance who regularly wore such a boned garment explained that the correct way to divest the girdle was to insert one's hands, palms to the body, down either side of the girdle and ease it downwards.

No bending of the bones occurs you see. If the girdle is too tight to get your hands in, a zippered girdle is required.

In conversation with some girlfriends, I mentioned that my granny was quite inflexible. My young son piped up "Was that because of her corsets?

Alone in my room, I was aware of 'sister getting ready for riding' noises in the 'pink palace' next to my World War II plane museum.

Today there seemed to be some argument about what she should be wearing, a largely one-sided argument conducted by our mother.

I left my room to see if I could hear more of the argument when sister's door burst open and she stormed into the corridor in her underwear pursued by mother brandishing a pair of corsets.

I watched mother and sister get into our car from the landing window. I have to say, my sister always looked smashing in her riding attire, but today, judging by her movements, mother had won the argument.

Later I asked mother why my sister had to wear corsets and she replied "She's learning to jump and it protects her back. I remember a friend of my mother.

Now as both of them and all the other ladies of their group are gone for nearly two decades, I can tell the story. This women in her late 60 ' s always wore firm panty-corselettes since she had large breasts and was very conscious regarding her physique.

Often she also wore a long-leg-panty-girdle over her corselette to achieve a very molded and flat abdomen. This was very effective , but in addition her bust was very prominent.

For this reason my mother and the other female friends of this group of ladies sometimes called her 'armoured cruiser Potemkin'. But to be honest, although I was a man in his 20 ' s at that time I liked her trim figure very much.

Th is lady was widowed some years later and - together with my mother - w ent on holidays together. Mom later told me that her friend used to relax on a lounge chair on the lawn of the hotel but only dressed with her skin-coloured corselette.

I don't know if she only forgot her swimsuit or wanted to attract men, but very likely the latter was the reason.

Of course my mother strongly disapproved this. I loved watching granny dress and she in turn, I think, enjoyed my attempts to help her with what I considered to be excessively complex underwear.

What really struck me was that so much of her underwear was satin. Her corsets and bra were matching pink satin as were her voluminous knickers.

Even her stockings had a sheen. There was a satin slip delicately trimmed with lace. Even her corsets, heavy and firmly boned as they were, had pretty lace details and a little rosebud at the top of each garter.

This magnificently feminine assemblage was usually hidden beneath sensible tweeds but on special occasions she would wear her white satin blouse and a long black velvet skirt.

Granny said that the satin allowed the materials to slip easily over each other. There was a time in our family, around the early 's when my sister became old enough to behave and dress like a smaller version of mother herself.

This lead to any number of morning dramas where my sister would yell down the landing "Mummy, you've got my girdle again! Thank Goodness, I thought I was putting on weight there!

Like many men, I imagine, I always enjoyed watching my wife dress and undress, when she was in the mood to allow me that is. The bane of her disrobing was a very elegant cocktail dress that had a side zip rather than the full length back zip.

How she hated getting it on over her head, but worse, far worse was getting it off again, particularly after a night out when the dress, that was designed to be tight, might really be tight.

Firstly she would try to lift the skirt over her head and it would stick. Slowly and with repeated convulsions she would manage to turn the dress inside-out over her head so for some minutes I was treated to the less than dignified view of my wife struggling inside her dress that was now above her head.

Her slip would have joined in the struggle and would now be up around her waist revealing her expensive corsetry and stockings.

At last, the wretched garment would be pulled off, usually with the slip and my wife would stand there breathless, in her corsets with make-up smudged and her hair in total disarray.

She never appreciated my amusement. The poor bridesmaid, her parents are determined that her spine should be as straight as a ruler and her teeth as regular as piano keys the white ones that is.

This actually was rather successful since the girl in her late teens turned into a very attractive women despite having to grimace through an iron monger's nightmare of steel braces and supports.

You don't really need that cricket bat darling, any burglar would run a mile if he saw you! Our neighbour similarly attired to the girl above right recounted how she was confronted on the stairs by the lodger a man , but with the added humiliation of wearing a far flimsier housecoat that revealed her far from flimsy foundations!

On the theme of vanity and women in cars, the lady in this tale had taken delivery of new corsets to wear to a wedding.

Indeed, the lady in question had been silly on both counts. Dressed in her finery, the taxi arrived but unfortunately, in the confines of the rear compartment, she discovered that it would be impossible to sit down without splitting something expensive.

The taxi driver, displaying unusual perception, offered the lady a rug that he placed on the floor. With no words exchanged, the lady crawled on all fours into the rear of the cab and stayed in that humiliating position for a journey of over 20 miles!

History does not relate whether the same exercise was repeated on the return journey. Regard the rather splendid American Spirella corset from right.

It is a very uncommon example of a corset with 'no entry'. The only way to don the garment is to release the lacing as far as possible, pull the corset up over the hips and then tighten the lacing.

This time-consuming procedure was used by ladies whose vanity could overcome any amount of trouble or discomfort. The typical wearer would lace tightly.

But look closely at the picture on the right. The corset has split actually on both sides where the fabric would bend as the wearer sat down. Obviously this corset was strong enough to resist catastrophic failure, however, the lady could never wear it again for fear of a more permanent rip.

I have only ever encountered two of these corsets with no entry and the one shown here is in our collection.

At a family gathering one Christmas, a young boy was heard to ask his Aunt whether she wore her corsets too tight like his own Granny.

Apparently, like his Granny, she suffered from the slightly pronounced eyes of the thyroid sufferer. The young boy had been told by his Mother that it was a side effect of too tight underwear.

My Mother, who lived for many years near Ascot, regularly visited the big horse races since, like many of her generation, she was a firm royalist and loved to get a glimpse of the late Queen Mother or the Queen herself.

One year, by dint of queuing, and not a little elbowing and shoving, she got right to edge of the Royal enclosure where the great ladies and a retinue of lesser Royal mortals would walk past.

Oh dear. My poor Mother, how disillusioned she was. There was one old dowager Duchess who looked like she was wearing a mask.

Vanity and its consequences are well-known to the St. John's ambulance crews who attend Royal Garden parties. These days it is usually heat exhaustion and the blistered feet caused by new and tight shoes, however, and it still occurs but rarely - IL , in days gone by, the word would go around the marquee for a female helper.

This almost always meant that some woman, often in a dead faint, required the loosening of over-tightened corsets. Pursuing this theme, I have seen women in such tight dresses that not just walking and sitting was an effort, but the very act of eating and breathing was impeded.

My aunt attended a Royal garden party many years ago. According to the warnings contained in this site, she broke every rule in the book.

New stiff corsets, new stiff shoes, a new dress, a new hat and a new bosom-hoisting brassiere. The ensemble was tried on once, briefly at the final dress fitting so at least she did check that it all worked together and then put away in preparation for the big occasion.

On the great day she even put in what she quaintly called "her teeth for smiling with", a rarely used set of spare dentures that were pearly white but a poor fit.

She suffered agonies during the event as her brassiere poked her, her corsets dug into her thighs, the suspenders chafed and her teeth seemed to have a will of their own.

On returning home half-crippled by her shoes she recounts divesting the lot in an explosion of relief. Nothing had been broken in, except that is my poor auntie!

Bringing them up is a fine balance between letting them experience that which will teach them and protecting them from experiences that will harm them.

So it was in the 's when my daughter was getting ready to go out. I observed her struggling into a panty-girdle of tourniquet strength.

Earlier than expected she returned in a taxi and burst into the house in floods of tears. I had to settle the bill with the driver. Apparently, after eating, the girdle became intolerable and she retreated to the loo to get rid of it.

Once dis-embarked from its constricting embrace she could no longer get the dress to fit, and she could no longer get back into the girdle. She left the party, her embarrassment covered by a friend's coat.

She sobbed out her tale of mortification on my shoulder. Perhaps the young woman was still a bit of the little girl. Ah well! That's one experience that taught her a lesson without causing any real harm, except to her ego!

The perils of tight-lacing are legion, and not simply confined to the health of the wearer either. Take the two loops of the corset laces and put them over a smooth, but strongly anchored object and lean away from the object.

You weight will automatically pull the laces tight. The dangers are, the laces snapping, or the loops coming off the anchorage, both of which can precipitate the wearer to the floor.

Since the commonest strong-point is a door handle, make sure the door is secured shut. I know of one hotel guest who was proceeding to dinner, when she was startled by the explosive opening of the door she was passing.

The sight of middle-aged woman crashing backwards to the carpet was even more alarming. Fortunately, it was simply a case of injured pride.

From Boston in the 's - the cartoon is not connected with the story, but shows the technique. My mother was short and stout—very stout.

In those days before Spandex, she wore a steel-reinforced heavy cotton undergarment called a corset to hold herself together. One morning while Dad slept, Mother went through her usual routine and was walking away from the bed to tighten the laces.

Holding her breath while she tugged, she decided to give it one more good pull. We children and Grandpa came running into the room to find Mother standing in her knee-length bloomers and full-length corset and Dad sitting up in the demolished bed, looking rather dazed.

This actually came to pass and it must have happened elsewhere at a wedding in the Yorkshire Dales, where a middle-aged and rather over-dressed woman was assaulted by a gust a wind that first removed her hat and then her wig.

A bald woman is a rather arresting sight and with the other guests rooted to the spot, she leapt after her wig with a vigour that split her skirt clean up the back revealing her slip through which her corsets were clearly visible - not that anybody was looking!.

The poor woman simply did not have enough hands to conceal her embarrassment. An elderly and rather vain lady was being fitted with a new pair of corsets.

The corsets in question were long and rigid in the back and fastened at the front by means of straps and buckles.

She exhorted the fitter to fasten it as tightly as possible, against the fitter's advice, since new corsets do need to be 'broken in' for the first few days.

The fitter left and agreed to pass by the following week. That evening whilst preparing for bed, the elderly lady realised that the strength in her hands was quite insufficient to budge the buckles which once fastened have quite a strong over-centre action.

The lady subsequently reverted to front-lacing corsets since, in extremis, one can always cut the laces. Above we have shown one of the classic disasters of tight-lacing, the split corset fabric.

The example here also has this evidence of tight-lacing, but, regard two other tell-tales, the permanent horizontal creasing and the eyelets hole surrounds coming free from their anchorage.

The wearer of this corset probably had laced far too tight then, to compound the folly, attempted to sit down.

The forces that come into play can tear even a strong corset asunder. It's an odd fact. I've known a number of women who have, let us say, laced for vanity rather than comfort.

Often wealthy and self-centred, these ladies would spend a fortune on their corsets and clothes, yet would never wash their corset regularly if at all.

One way to prolong the life of any garment is to maintain its cleanliness. Were these women lazy, or did they not want their evidence of their vanity on the clothes-line or in the airing cupboard?

I was dressing up to go out with a new boyfriend and, wanting to look my best, struggled heroically into my tightest pantie-girdle, fastened my stockings to the garters and finally got the hooks and eyes to meet so that the zipper could be pulled up.

My, but I was firm and tight, and I pulled on a new pair of fitted white trousers to contrast with a loose pale blue jumper.

I looked fantastic. My mother regarded me descending the stairs not without a little difficulty. I'm wearing a girdle" I retorted this was in the days when girdles were a bone of contention between mother and daughter.

I wore a lined white skirt that evening instead, but it was a shame about the trousers. We're going back to the late 's here when elderly women would first have experienced corsets as teenagers possibly even younger in the late 19th century.

One must remember that elderly in the 's was late 60's or 70's. Such women could not live without their foundations and there were plenty of main-stream, bespoke and personal fitters.

My granny was one such lady and very well-monied and connected in a way that seemed not to have passed down to our generation although it did later when she passed away.

She employed a maid as a dresser and the maid, revealing confidences that she should not have done, often regaled us grand-daughters about the struggle to maintain granny in the shape to which she had become accustomed.

It wasn't just the corsets and stockings, it was the wigs, dentures, powder and paint that all had to be selected for the appropriate occasion. The occasion could be relaxing at home, meeting an ambassador, attending the races, a garden party or a game of bridge; in fact, a world alien to the majority of us.

Whether she would be standing, sitting, smiling or talking, indoors or outdoors, determined, not just her appearance for the day, but what was required to hold her together and allow, or not, sufficient flexibility for locomotion or sitting.

Her array of wigs was pre-prepared of course, but wind-proof attachment to her bald pate was essential for the outdoors. Teeth for smiling, teeth for eating or teeth for comfort; corsets for standing, corsets to get into her gowns, corsets for sitting, corsets for riding or corsets for comfort if such were possible.

Her skirts were always long to conceal the ravages of time upon her legs, but should they flow, should they hobble, should she wear a petticoat, two petticoats or a crinoline?

What make-up would suit the outdoor sun, or rain, or the glare of the electric indoor light. Choices, choices and today, the poor maid would have to consult a questionnaire to get it all right, but in those days, people had memories and granny would be turned out as immaculate as a china doll and often as immobile!

I was lacing an elderly aunt into her corsets one morning when there was a sudden popping sound. My wife always wore a girdle in the 60's; I guess all her friends did as well.

If she wore slacks then she would wear a what she called a panty girdle although they looked just like elastic underpants to me. If she was going somewhere special then she would wear one of her old girdles over the panty girdle.

Since she had gained a little weight since her girdle days, this was no mean feat, but the end result was pleasing both to my wife and myself.

More than once I was called in to make the hooks and eyes of the girdle meet. Amazingly, disembarking from this elastic prison was far easier, even after a full meal, than putting it on.

She simply unzipped and un-hooked the girdle and then by sliding her hands down her hips between elastic and flesh, the whole contraption simply slipped down her hips to the floor.

It was a performance that I never tired of watching although my wife ultimately got fed up with me asking "Doubling up today Dear?

I realised from an early age I had two older sisters , that women can usually absorb any amount of flattery, however exaggerated or preposterous it might be.

I could always score brownie points with the women in our family simply by saying "You look really good today" or "I like your hair" - simple stuff.

It was the older relatives and friends that produced the most interesting responses. One old aunt actually I was a teenager then so she was only about 60 or so - old in those days , always was over made-up, over-dressed and over-bearing, however, a "You look smashing Auntie" always produced a clucking, a touching of the hair and a cooing worthy of the most over-acted pantomime dame.

Shame about the lipstick on your dentures would have been more appropriate, but flattery will get you anywhere; it always got me a few shillings at Christmas anyway.

The only riposte that really floored me was from one old virago who tottered through the front door. In response to my cheery greeting she stared at me for a few seconds and said "Would you like to try on my corsets young man?

Then you'd look smashing as well! This was not the bitter argument you might have expected for my peers all wore girdles then, but on one thing I was adamant "No zipper!

Letters from Client s. The browsers provide a wide range of subject matter from the 'unbelievable', through 'wish fulfillment' to genuine interest and curiosity.

Those with corsetry experience, however, are always gratefully received. Often, it is not a personal experience, which would be unlikely these days, since traditional corset wearers, and email familiarity don't cover the same target groups.

It is usually, daughters, or even sons with a somewhat prurient interest in their female relations' underwear, that provide the best detailed accounts of what was actually worn during the 'halcyon days of corsetry'.

Sorting the 'wheat from the chaff' is neither an easy task, nor even probably accurate.

Lesbian corsets Granny was looking after her daughter's boisterous kids. Going to university, particularly Ixxx,com one comes from a Lesbian corsets background, can be something of an eye-opener. I was terrified to 'spend a penny' at night and my sisters wickedly added to my fear by telling me tales of 'the Groke', a shambling evil monster from the Norwegian Moomin genre. It was the older relatives and friends that produced the most interesting responses. My sister and I used to snigger out of earshot "I wonder if she's got her surgical teeth in today? Sometimes the stories are well written, but Johnny castle porn the whole gamut from blatant fabrication through to fantastical wish-fulfillment; these are not published. Petite short girl porn invited him in Tamil actress blue films a nightcap. The typical wearer would lace tightly. Sam was a tom-boy, several years older than us, and a natural leader.