Untitled Thing, January 21,2021
As my corset pressed tighter against my midsection, I felt increasingly more comfortable and ready for the time to come. Without it, my existence felt precarious and uncontrollable, like the wind; with it, I felt solid. My energies could be marshaled in whatever direction became necessary instead of uselessly and chaotically dispersing every which way. And it didn’t hurt that I loved the way it made me look. I would never be willowy like my older sisters, but then I didn’t need to be.
“A little tighter,” I instructed my maid, Aria. Presently, I needed as much help as I could get. Like the rest of my family—at least those who still lived at home or in the city—I was expected to be in attendance at tonight’s party, which meant many opportunities for me to inadvertently embarrass my parents and siblings. Once upon a time, that would have happened with some regularity—my father’s work and position meant there were many parties, many dinners, and many social events.
I’m not good at talking to others. I take things too literally and am bad at identifying the deeper meanings behind words. I go on and on about whatever subjects interest me, hardly ever letting others get a word in edgewise, which I’m told many dislike. I’ll often say whatever comes to mind, without really understanding how it might be insulting or offensive. In order to prevent those things, I eventually found it safer to say nothing at all.
And then I began tightlacing. Buoyed by my stays, I had the presence of mind to remember to follow all the rules of proper social discourse. It didn’t make parties easier—they are, in fact, exhausting—but at least I am no longer as likely to regret them afterwards. Sometimes, under the right circumstances, they can even be enjoyable.
“Thank you, that’s enough,” I said, and Aria, with her usual dexterity and speed, tied the excess lace into a bow. The pressure around my waist, the sensation of my lungs expanding and contracting against the whalebone and cotton, my unalterable posture, all felt more constant and reassuring than any hug. Any tighter, however, and the corset would be just as distracting as if I weren’t wearing it at all. It would still be a while before I was fully prepared, but the most important part, at least, was over.
Chasing Sheep 