Waist training in the time of cronuts

It would be a shame to be deprived of the perks of this age of culinary invention. I would hate to miss the surprises every day has to offer just because my stomach is — literally — wired to only accommodate chickpeas.

With Pringles, glazed donuts and chocolate mallows as mainstays in the ongoing epic that is The Contents of My Fridge, I wouldn’t be offended if anyone assumed that I am incapable of dieting. My favorite pastime is going to the grocery store — hungry, which people say one should never do. Yet I do it, for the love of food. And for the creativity that somehow surfaces only as the acids in my stomach start going at each other. Sometimes I would go to three different supermarkets in one day. The smaller ones tend to have the good stuff (Puto Pangasinan? Yes, please.), while the bigger ones have all the basics (Dulce de Leche spread, Japanese rice, vacuum-sealed Japanese corn-on-the-cob). And while I respect truly dedicated healthy eaters, heck, even bandwagon dieters who try everything but hardly stick to anything, you can imagine my concern when I first read about Jessica Alba’s “corset diet.” Has our obsession over having the perfect figure come to squishing our bodies into the ideal size?
To begin with, Jessica Alba already has a tiny waist (for reference, see Into the Blue or if you want to go way back, Honey). Genlux magazine reported that the actress gained 55 pounds when she was pregnant, but photos can attest that all the weight mainly went to her boobs and, yes, the tiny human being growing inside her belly. Life is not fair. According to Shape magazine, she wore a double corset for three months and went on a strict routine of diet, exercise and lots of water to lose all that. She’s not alone in this, too. Celebrities like Gwyneth Paltrow, Jennifer Garner and Kourtney Kardashian are all rumored to have worn girdles of some sort to fit right back into their pre-pregnancy jeans.

In one way it makes sense: when you wear a trapeze dress to a buffet, you tend to not think about portions and servings and the consequential expansion of your abdomen area. But when you wear a tight-fitting dress, you consciously curate what you put on your plate. In many other ways, it’s crazy. I remember my mom having what I call a “sweat belt,” which her orthopedic specialist gave her after she had a back operation. It is supposed to straighten the spine as well as train the muscles on both sides of her spine to develop evenly with exercise. After she was done with the entire length of her therapy, I got custody of the sweat belt and wore it every time I did tae-bo (via an exercise video by a man who looks a lot like Latrell in White Chicks), which was every day for an entire summer. The belt is about two yards of stretchy rubber that is wrapped around the waist and fastened with Velcro tape. It’s not uncomfortable — I would wear it while watching Everyday Italian and A Cook’s Tour on the Food Network. And while it didn’t curb my appetite, it did live up to its name. When the sweat belt became too gross with much use and washing, we tossed it out. That summer was the only time I had ever seen my “abs.” Several selfies were taken.

Just before the holidays, I got my first Spanx. It was a blush-colored corset made of the softest fabric, with about 10 hooks and flexible boning. It wasn’t the most intimidating corset. (It was pink!) After I first learned about the corset diet, out of curiosity, I indulged in a bastardized version of it, using my new toy. Just trying to get it on was a challenge — I had to put it on ‘80s style. That is, the same way my titas had to lie down to zip up and button their high-waist, super-tough Levi’s, except after I had fastened all 10 hooks, I had to stand up and twist the Spanx around so the back and front were where they should be. It wasn’t as uncomfortable as I imagined, but I didn’t feel like it rooted for me like the sweat belt did. There was no love.

I endured it for half a day (okay, three hours) — about the length of an awards show, and that’s about how long a corset is supposed to be worn in this day and age. And although it’s not a corset by technical terms, to wear it for three months must be painful, not to mention a real test in discipline. Sara Gottfried, M.D. told ABC News, “If you’re wearing a corset 24/7, it can do a couple of things to your body. Namely, it will be squeezing your ribs so much that you can’t take a deep breath. Corsets can squish your lungs by 30 to 60 percent, making you breathe like a scared rabbit. They can also put a kink in your organs and cause constipation.” No wonder Marie Antoinette hated wearing them. Let us eat cake!

It would be a shame to be deprived of the perks of this age of culinary invention. I wouldn’t miss cronuts (I’ll have real donuts, thanks), but I would hate to miss the surprises every day has to offer just because my stomach is wired, literally, to only accommodate chickpeas. Jessica Alba and everyone else who does waist training deserves a citation for enduring this. But it seems the potential market of the corset diet consists of those who should be strongly discouraged from doing it, that is, women who already can fit into corsets!

Post-partum waist training, also called “tightlacing,” is not new. Training corsets have been used for centuries to mould a pronounced waist (or for BDSM — training for other things perhaps), and modern manufacturers have created corsets that are meant to be used daily. The predicament lies in the expectations we have of the garment, and the resulting unhealthy adjustments that will come from wearing it. It’s an appetite suppressant, basically, and curbing one’s appetite only on the basis of “because I am wearing this,” can’t be too sound a plan. And as with everything else, it would be best not to go into it without a proper trainer.

I still love the idea of a modern corset — it’s very Aguilerian. For that alone, it deserves the sliver of space it is taking up in my closet. But I won’t be wearing it again anytime soon, at least not for waist training. I’ve trained my waist to make room for dessert always. I’ve trained my abdomen to contract as I struggle with that first gruesome “Ahh” before the chorus of Goodbye, Yellow Brick Road. I’ve trained it to be thankful for whatever food is available, and to not spill over the waistband of my pants. That’s all the waist training it’s had, and all that it can, um, stomach for now.