There is something terribly, terribly wrong with women’s underwear... I am sure it hasn’t always been this way; clearly something has gone awry at some point.

Women’s foundation garments used to be beautiful and functional. I own an absolutely gorgeous vintage 1930’s pink heavy cotton corset, with little blue flowers and pink garters. It’s lovely, and pretty as well as being amazingly functional and extremely comfortable.

I also have a modern, cheap, nasty black satin corset which hints disturbingly at an all-over-torso rash if I was ever foolish enough to actually wear it against my skin.

I wonder how we got from Item A to Item B and at what point manufacturers forgot that women are covered in skin, and that skin needs to breathe. More disturbingly in the paean of Horrible Things Made For Women To Be Horrible To Themselves With, I present you with Items C, D and E, a terrifying range of foundation garments referred to as “shapewear” or, as I have come to call them, “Vicious Woman-Eating Underwear”.

Being slightly Rubenesque, I yearn for a sleeker, more streamlined silhouette. I lust after the women’s clothes in “Mad Men” and I appreciate the breathtaking feats of engineering required to pull those looks off.

So, in a doomed attempt to join the ranks of the sleek Bombshells, I have begun amassing quite a selection of shapewear. Well, to be honest, it was either that or have Greenpeace save me from being harpooned by Japan... and I do so hate the sight of blood.

First off, I acquired an article of clothing I not-so-fondly refer to as my ‘Boa Constrictor’. This vicious little creature is basically an industrial strength beige spandex boob tube, but it is designed to streamline one’s tummy and derriere – not your boobs.

While it does a sterling job of smoothing over things I would rather not talk about, it also regularly hauls off and tries to kill me in the middle of the day by slowly curling up from the bottom and down from the top simultaneously, thereby almost chopping me in half in the middle. Trying to insert myself back into the Boa Constrictor is a lot like trying to shove eight enraged Water Buffalo into a single Port-a-Loo. It has a vile temper and a disturbing proclivity for violence; it’s the baby Stewie of my world (a Family Guy reference there for those in the know).

The second fabulous piece of foundation garment hell I bought was something akin to a pair beige waders. Wearing them makes me a shoo-in for the next season of “The Farmer Wants Some Dozy Wench Who Can Catch Fish With Her Bare Hands”.

Since I appeared to be developing a taste for profound self-harm, the third piece of shapewear I bought myself was a pair of black Spanx – a famous American brand of shapewear - an entire size smaller than I currently am. So stay tuned for bruised Kidneys and a squished Liver...with any luck.

I should warn you at this point that shapewear is not for everyone. A friend of mine attempted shapewear the other day in an effort to reclaim a favourite outfit from bygone days. The plaintive emails stared at about 10am…

From: Lovely Friend
To: Miranda
Subject: HELP!!
Had to go to busty and impotent meeting, to be all busty and impotent. Spent ½ an hour trying to squish self into nice clothes and failed. Finally donned some out-of-control-top stockings that promise to cut arse size by an inch and struggled into professionalish looking skirt/jacket thing. Am now being slowly strangled from the waist down by out-of-control-top stockings. Will make for terribly embarrassing epithet. Do not let me eat anything ever again.

My heart went out to her, but no amount of soothing replies was going to help her. By 2 o’clock plaintive had turned to desperate:

From: Lovely Friend
To: Miranda
>Subject: RE: HELP!!

Ogododogogod. Scary underwearstockings cutting off circulation to brain, thus proving conclusively what have always suspected: brains are definitely stored in arse.
Am going to have to leave early because of largeness and brainsinarse problems.
Went to loo before, took 15 mins to stuff self back into scary stockings. Fell over while trying and banged head on wall. Nervous colleagues asking if all is ok after crashing and swearing sounds emanating through loo walls made of tissue paper.
Lunch still sitting in chest (everything else is encased in scary underwear) and appears to be considering relocating itself all over Bossman’s desk.
Eventually, traumatised by being eaten alive by her own underwear, she had to leave work 2 hours early and go home for a little cry. She spent the rest of the evening carving “this is why I should never leave my tracksuit pants” into the walls and trawling eBay for comfortable caftans.

I told her that next time she had such a run-in with her foundation garments, I would rush in with the Jaws of Life, cut her free of her woman-eating underwear and beat it to death with a hammer. Sadly, nothing could soothe my lovely friend and she is now so damaged by the whole experience that anyone who does her or her loved ones wrong will now be immediately sent TWO pairs of vicious woman-eating underwear to punish them for their crimes...and may God have mercy on their souls.

So, we have now resolved to team up and become a female superhero crime fighting duo, battling to rid the world of spandex death traps wickedly disguised as helpful underwear.

I am (according to my friend’s daughter) “Awesome Mandi”, so I shall adopt that as my alter-ego’s superhero moniker. However, I am pretty sure my only superpower would actually be getting my cape caught in the wheels of BlueBell the Wonder Car and ripping my own head off. This superhero thing is a LOT more difficult than it looks.

My friend’s superpower would be Uber Impressive Falling Down and Killing of Nemesiseses and Getting Back Up Again Unscathed - she has a gift for falling over things that were never there and probably never will be.

The world will cower before us, but only because they suspect we will cause ourselves some terrible fatal injury and accidentally take them down with us.

If anyone gets out of hand, we can always punish them with an all-over-body-shaper type of arrangement. It’s the Iron Maiden of the 21st century – no-one gets out alive.

Anyway, that’s enough from me, as I have underwear crime to fight and people to save from severe spandexitis

To make sure my superhero outfit looks good, I might just quietly pop my Boa Constrictor on under it, for a pleasing silhouette. Don’t be surprised if you hear an evil laugh and a shriek coming from my change-room. And if have not become a legless torso by lunchtime, I shall be wildly astonished.

* * * Just in case anyone had any doubts about how hard it is to be a woman, I would like to share the following update to the above story.

A week or so after my friend narrowly escaped being eaten alive by her own underwear, I was working quietly at my desk when I was interrupted by the following email exchange.

From: Lovely Friend
To: Miranda
Subject: Underwear update
After last week’s failed attempt to murder me, underwear is now attempting to flee my vicinity. Spent all day yesterday with stockings falling down in front of Tasmanians and today bra has broken, left boob now roaming about unfettered (TMI?).
This will require another Chadstone trip at lunchtime. Chadstone. Where they have books and donuts and shoes.
Also, I need a nice pen.

From: Miranda
To: Lovely Friend
Subject: Re: Underwear update
OH GOD !!! You poor poor thing !!!
Yes - waaaaaaaaaaaaay too much information.
*quizzical look* A nice pen ...???

From: Lovely Friend
To: Miranda
Subject: Underwear update
Yes. A nice pen. Is not a euphemism. Is a pen that is nice to write with.
*clutches left boob and looks superior* do you not understand importance of nice pens?

From: Miranda
To: Lovely Friend
Subject: Re: Underwear update
*falls off chair laughing*
There is absolutely NO WAY you can clutch your OWN BOOB and look superior...
*continues to wriggle and giggle on floor*

From: Lovely Friend
To: Miranda
Subject: Underwear update
*disdainful sniff*
Am now going to eat lunch and drip orange soup all over self before setting off to Chadstone.
Am not at all concerned about walking around shopping centre covered in bright orange spots and clutching own boob.

From: Miranda
To: Lovely Friend
Subject: Re: Underwear update
* weeping with laughter and pounding floor with fist in uncontrollable hilarity*

From: Lovely Friend
To: Miranda
Subject: Underwear update
Also, I went to the gym this morning and pulled a muscle in my calf. This happens quite regularly and I have Deep Heat thingy to put on it, so am walking with a pronounced limp and smell vaguely like mentholated spirits.
I swear I am not making any of this up.

From: Miranda
To: Lovely Friend
Subject: Re: Underwear update
OMG... * wipes eyes and tries unsuccessfully to get up off the carpet *
Stop !!! Please !!! I am starting to seriously hurt myself with all this laughing !!!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.........

From: Lovely Friend
To: Miranda
Subject: Underwear update
Charming!
I’m about to go limping around a shopping centre, clutching my left boob and hoping people wont notice that I am covered in orange spots and smell like mentholated spirits!!! And you LAUGH???
Well that’s it! No nice pen for you. I’m going to buy you some new spanks instead.

* * *

My poor Lovely Friend, she’ll never be the same again.

Neither, I suspect, will Chadstone shopping centre.

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