'I Wore A Waist Trainer For Three Weeks And This Is What Happened'
As far as weight loss and fitness are concerned, I am a card-carrying, lifelong fan of the gimmick.
If I’m going to exercise I need a chichi gym with a froufrou juice bar and spinning studios dark as Darth Vader’s guest loo to motivate me.
I need magic knickers that promise to burn the fat off your thighs and pump it into your lips. I need coconut water; neon runners; ergonomic Pro Fierce Dri-FIT stretch-jersey sports bras and BPA-free, eco-friendly sports water bottles.
I pause Netflix for nothing less.
So when human gimmick Kim Kardashian West Instagrammed a picture of herself
promoting wearing a waist trainer, I instantly began to wonder if I could skip all that malarkey and get a wildly out of proportion celebrity body simply by wearing a girdle and taking selfies. I did nothing about it of course, but I did wonder.
Now that we've reached peak waist and everyone in possession of an abdomen appears to be attempting to train it into some shape or another, I decided there was only one way to find out if they are on to something.
Here we go: I order my fancy girdle from Waist Trainers. Owner Aisling gives me the lowdown: “Start out by wearing it for two hours a day, then four hours the next day and work up from there.” she says.
I immediately make a mental note to ignore that advice and wear it 24 hours a day to achieve my celebrity body faster.
It arrives! I run up to my bedroom and whip it out of the bag. It's a sliver of black latex. It looks suspiciously small and it's got three rows of scary looking hooks.
That’s enough for now, I think.
I go downstairs and eat a delicious Boston Cream doughnut.
Morning dawns and I am filled with enthusiasm (for the waist training) and self-loathing (from the doughnut).
Himself looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind. I need him to snap out of it and help me strap in (you need a little assistance for your first foray into waist training) but he's wandered off so I decide to install it myself. Know this: putting on a waist trainer is a workout. Like most exercise-related endeavours, I start out standing and end up lying on the bed.
Eventually the last hook-and-eye hook is fastened and it's on. Success! I admire my handiwork in the mirror. I look like an egg timer. A sexy dominatrix egg timer.
Seriously, these things make your waist look impossibly small.
After three hours I'm starting to understand why Victorian ladies were always fainting. The squeeze is real. I de-girdle for the day.
I'm getting the hang of the hooks. I pop the Waist Trainer on first thing and the effect is pleasingly instant. So much more instant than dieting and its pesky friend exercise. I’m surprised to find the most noticeable correction is to my posture; it’s impossible to slouch while wearing a waist trainer. The second effect is the undeniable boob lift, probably a byproduct of my improved posture. I start the day feeling like Dolly Parton in Nine to Five.
By 11am my enthusiasm is beginning to wane. I wonder if my internal organs are still in their right body cavities. Something feels squished. Are kidneys in the back or the front?
I Google pictures of Kim K to focus my resolve. Does waist training push the excess fat into your bottom? I hope so.
I dig out my skinniest jeans from the 'don't even think about it' pile. Turns out, the waist trainer helps those bad boys slip right on.
The waist trainer is a constant reminder to improve your posture, which is great if you are a laptop addict like me whose celebrity body double is Quasimodo. Today I forgot to put it on (this is a crucial part of the waist training process - you have to put it on) and I felt like a deflated Airdancer. Do I have no abdominal muscles at all?
NEXT WEEK: Katie attempts to 'get waisted' at the pub.