November 16 - November 22, 1995

Eighth Day

MIRACLE BUTT: "They really do boost it," says the salesclerk, a size three if ever I saw one. "But they look different on everybody, so you really need to try them on," she says, gesturing to the dressing room, a long embarrassing walk across the denim department with two pairs of Miracle Boost jeans draped over my arm and my oldest son mumbling something about how they're gonna look really different on his mother.

What these new jeans do, according to the tag, is move your backside from the frumpy, baggy, slightly square look of your favorite Levi jeans to a hipped-up, highly rounded, miracle of a behind. I guess one that says, "I created this behind for you to look at." All it takes are these pants and $40. Sounds simple enough--now why would I want to? God knows I can't see behind me.

According to the lingerie industry, nothing's helped them so much in recent years as the sagging bodies of baby boomers who forgot to use their health club memberships. Those cottage cheese thighs and breasts, need lifting--which is why we have new and improved items like the Wonderbra, and, in lieu of the old cut-off-your-circulation girdles, a variety of stretchy slips and front-paneled panties to pull in all that stuff you don't want poking out of your red rubber dress.

And I guess now that we're all squeezed in underneath, we welcome the next cruel layer of skin marketing. The tag on the Miracle Boost jeans calls them "The uplifting jean that accentuates your curves, creating a more beautiful silhouette. The difference is dramatic."

The difference was dramatic--woman metamorphosed into sausage. The jeans are a cross between your favorite old jeans and those stretchy leggings we all loaded up our sock drawer with during the past two winters--mostly because they made our legs look thinner.

As if leggings and the skin we were born with were not tight enough, these new pants feel permanently attached. My thighs are now over-emphasized in 96 percent cotton and 4 percent miracle Spandex, not a pleasant sight from the front or back. I'm not surprised. After all, squeeze toothpaste in the tube with the cap on and it simply moves from one place to another. The living bulge.

I didn't quite feel like a sprain inside an ace bandage, mainly because I opted for the next size up. This is not good from a marketing standpoint, though, because it's true most women prefer to buy the smallest size possible, with certain undergarment exceptions.

Speaking of helpful hints, my son, reflecting on the essence of miracles, noted, "It doesn't work for you." Thank you, Mr. Blackwell.

Bottoms up to another marketing squeeze, warriors.
--Hannah Glasston

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November 16 - November 22, 1995

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