Strangely, just last night I was thinking how unfair it was that I had never got to wear a corset, and how much more fulfilled I might have felt if I had done. No childbirth, no periods, no corsets – life's a bitch for boys.
So what should arrive on my desk this morning? Only George at Asda's very own corset for men, a snip at £10 and already sold out online. It's not called a corset exactly, and there are no suspenders attached. In fact George's approach is more cod-medical than erotic – a little triangle at the top of the packaging talks about lumbar support, but maybe that's a euphemism.
Forget Spanx, this is the Manx. If you don't like that you can simply call them "high-waisted trunks." And if you're still not happy, how's about a "shape enhancer"? Whatever, Asda promises it provides a quick fix to that classic love-handles-and-five-bellies male middle-age crisis. The Bodysculpt Trunk is a follow up to Asda's Bodysculpt Vest (aka The Moob Tube), which was designed to give men a six-pack for just £7.
The weird thing is, the Tim Henman-lookalike advertising the Bodysculpt trunks doesn't need a corset because he's already sickeningly sculpted. Just a quibble.
So off I toddle to the toilet to try it on. Now, there's a problem with men's pants that I'd like to tactfully address. It's all to do with male psychology and the nether regions. Men do not like to think they wear small pants. So the tiniest of briefs tend to be branded "unfeasibly large pants for the obscenely endowed". Therefore this medium-to-large corset is actually so tiny and so tight that it's cutting off my circulation. Every time I type a sentence I have to stop for deep breaths. And now I'm sweating. And feeling obese (which I didn't before), because all my fat is elegantly rolled up and bunched under my nipples. The corset claims to have ventilated panels for cooling, but I am yet to find them. I'm beginning to feel like a cross between Bridget Jones and Simon Cowell. Without the money.
I do feel bizarrely svelte when I walk around, and notice that my belly quickly develops a smug little wiggle. But as soon as I sit down I want to pass out. Apparently, the corset stops body odour. But that might be because it kills you before you have time to stink.
There's another problem. When exactly should one wear one's corset? On a hot date? If you are confident you're going to cop off, do you run to the loo to whip it off, or insist on undressing in the dark? And if you get caught out, do you get done for trade descriptions? So many moral dilemmas, so little time. And to be honest I'm already sick of being objectified.
