Thursday, December 6, 2012

Can I Be Sexy Pie?

   I have gone to extreme measures to take my mind off the fact that we're meant to be moving (the d-day has moved from the 30th of November to the 7th of December and subsequently to the 10th) in 3 days time, and not only have I yet to pack up the Disney encyclopaedias, we are- after a brief, flickering moment of hope- once again staring down homelessness. There was a duplex townhouse that appeared ripe, but as a consequence of the unfathomable measures of dicking about perpetrated by the agent in charge of it, we found out it wouldn't be available for occupation in time exactly yesterday. This essentially gives the man a usefulness quotient of zero, and I wish pusturating arse-boils upon him for the duration of the holiday season. Scrabbingly we are now searching again for a place to store me, my uncle and the cats (not to mention my library and entire museum catalogue) once we're booted out of Casa Birkenstock, and my palms are not sweating nor have hives broken out anywhere near me, because I just spent the last four hours exploring the rather purple depths of Bid Or Buy.
   For those not of a South African persuasion- Bid Or Buy is essentially Ebay. When I have more money and time on my hands than sense, this is where my consciousness eventually ends up. There are some really nice vintage shops selling lovely bits and pieces, and I have given a fair chunk of my custom to them over the years. Today, I bring you goodies of a slightly different bent.

   I am fucking fascinated by the idea of "sexy" or "slutty" suchandsuch costumes. There just seem to be a set amount of visual archetypes that we are led to believe are tattooed upon the bit of the male brain that's in charge of allocating blood-flow. I think the male brain is lead to believe this too though, and I've not yet heard any vociferous objections raised or seen any bans levied against the Sexy Nurse livery, so I think belief here goes untested.
   Now I understand some of them. The aforementioned Nurse I get- it's already a uniform even before you start cutting out strategic bits of fabric, and uniforms are fairly traditionally perved upon by both sexes. Not my thing personally, but still, power to everyone on this front. The other dimension to this of course is that nurses take care of you, lavish over you, and stand at least a higher than average chance of coinciding with a spongebath at some point in the future, so Sexy Nurse = sense.

   In the Bid Or Buy selection, your options for Nurse vary wildly between the more or less logical example here, to the point where you start wanting to offer the poor girl a coat of some kind.
   With the assumption that those who take care of you would be a turn-on, it follows that someone serving you would make your arse explode from excitement.

   No, not serving you in that sense. (Actually, the above costume was labelled "Sexy Chainsaw Executioner." Looking at her current condition and the chainsaw in question I cannot help but conclude this lady is both spectacularly clumsy and in preparation to execute a small salami.) (And also, I'm sorry, but any apron that makes you look as though you're build like a troll doll isn't going on anyone's sexy list.)
   I meant that perennial favourite of all porn movies made before 1989: The maid uniform. This one also covers both the uniform and servitude angles, so it's always going to be a hit, and I'll concede a certain measure of sexiness inherent in the general design alone. Howfuckingever:

   This shit is no longer a fucking costume. This is now a woman with grossly mismatched tits and apparently microscopic areolae in a dust ruffle. One dust ruffle, singular. She does not even have so much as two pocket squares with which to retain the chastity of her chestal area, but for some reason it has been decided that she needs gloves. BUT, lest we endanger ourselves of covering up any superfluous flesh, they must by needs by fingerless gloves, of course.
   Not too long ago, a member of the male species did confirm for me that a cat outfit has real life, genuine fans, which came as something of a surprise to me. Perhaps I'm the only one, but I really thought that it was something of a lazy cliché without much basis in reason, but I was assured that as little as the cat ears and a tail facsimile of some kind was enough to oxygenate the nether-regions. I don't think this particular bias bears much psychological scrutiny though: the moment you try to find some kind of explanation for it, it gets progressively more creepy. I mean you could probably do something with the femininity of cats and their slinky movement, the the very second you scale it up to a woman in cheap cat-ears and a feather-boa tail, overthinking it really just turns it into a question of how realistic or animal you want your cat-lady, and for fuck's sake why. Some kind soul, however, has found a way to combine both the Sexy Cat and Sexy Maid genres, and this happened:

   So now you have a submissive feline in corsetry. I really don't feel all that comfortable right this second.
   Still on uniforms, I'll say that the whole nautical theme definitely has staying power. In fact, out of all of the general looks that were covered in every fashion, the Sexy Sailor was one of the few that I just genuinely liked the look of almost all the time. Damn it, but the sailor thing is just cute no matter which way you cut it.

   I would so wear that swimming. I realise my intended use probably misses the point of the sexy costume thing rather spectacularly, but still, that's adorable as all get out.
   I think the next one merits a deep and resounding sigh, because we have veered off from the sensible once again, and are now knee-deep in You Stupid Fuck territory. This one was called "Army Camouflage Costume."

   Upon viewing the illustration, I seized upon a vague suspicion, and via the magic of Photoshop have confirmed...

   That this outfit's capacity for camouflage vaguely equals that of a flamingo in a Mexican restaurant.

   Of course you'd have your Catholic School Girls...

   ...Who appear to be flying in the face of every single dress code restriction I remember being bound by since the first grade. And to match, here's the nun I'd like to imagine is in charge of Catechism class:

   I'm sure part of the appeal of the nun thing must be the idea of being disciplined by a woman in a position of power, and the whole ravaging of the vows of celibacy thing. Fair enough, I would very much take every advantage of getting on a time lord, which I'm sure is equally depraved and strange so I'll not begrudge some poor man in nun in fishnet stocking and bell-sleeved bikini top. That'd just be cruel. But my sticking point (hey now, nun of that. Fuck, sorry.) would have to be with the stupendous, fabulous idiot savant who wrote the item description. Firstly, in big fat bold letters I managed to misread the heading as

"Spunk Me!" Nun Costume

   I'm sure I need not explain in which ways that betrays my marvellously Freudian nature, but I don't think "Spank Me!" is that much of a step up really, filth-wise. The genius though was nestled in amongst the measurements and shipping specifics. The writer here is a man much like the beautiful mind that spent all that time crafting penis-spam emails especially for my pleasure. He has considered his audience and his subject matter, and as a tantalising little taster of the joys you could experience on the business end of this costume, he has chosen to entice you thusly:

"Papa dont preach to me
I've made up my mind 
to be a nun."

    I mean, come on. That's like porn haiku. I'll admit my first thought upon seeing those latex sleeves was something along the lines of  "No. Nononononono," but after such a great blurb I cannot but be wholly on board. Or holy on board. Or indeed, holey on board. 
   Again, I am really just so fucking sorry.

   Considering the time of year, it's not unusual that I came across every variant of the Sexy Santa Claus outfit, from the fairly tame...

    ...To the aesthetic first cousin of that maid's uniform I made happen at you earlier.


   Really, there's truly something for everyone. 

   There's Cleopatra as done by a David-Bowie-Man-From-Space-Porn Star...

   ...And Pam from True Blood as the world's most under-dressed pirate.

   I cannot understate the WTF value of the Sexy Sunflower idea, although I'm sure there's a joke in there somewhere about pollinating.

   I found Sexy Grim Reaper, which consisted of an LED light skeleton printed on a leotard, and a Sexy Wolverine, to which I say: really? Haven't we done that already?

   Of course, my secret shame is that I would have every single one of the pirate costumes available shipped directly to my door and wear that shit like actual clothing. I've never met a flared sleeve (vampire-nun's pleather nightmare excepting) I didn't like, and I'm a medieval faire junkie, so no matter where they rank on the scale of slutty to shoe-lace-crammed-between-your-arse-cheeks, I want. Enough so that this isn't the first time I've trolled the adult costume section of Bid Or Buy in hopes of finding some plus-sized flowery thing horribly misappropriated as "pirate wear". They usually come with some gorgeous brocade military-look jacket or something with corset lacing, and I would wear all of it out into the world with jeans and my croc flats. 

   Look at that glory. It's all fucking fabulous, and while I'd be willing to get past the fact that most of them cost more than the amount of money I think a member of my family should be worth, they are also all "one size fits most," the utter wanking bastards. The only ones that come in baby whale sizes look like this:

  And I don't care what your bent is, but that right there is essentially what would happen if the gayest Barbie that ever there was got Hadron-Colliden with an all-female production of Pirates of the Chlamydian: On Stranger Rides. Again, I think the whole Pirate thing really just functions on Rule Of Cool over some deeper psychological drive, and maybe the fact that you get to wear boots so high they're in danger of invading your arsehole. Still, I don't really see the situation in which some guy is absolutely panting for a bubblegum flavoured first mate, no matter how many shiny fake cows died to clad it in tampon-blue.

   I can't for the life of me understand why you'd want to approach the whole Sexy Bride thing. Surely the whole idea of a bride really suggests having to wait for the sexuals? Is the appeal the idea of having been denied special privileges that you now finally get to cash in on like the end of Lent or something? If it's your wedding night (and you're not snot-faced on champagne) I'd be quite comfortable laying odds on you getting to, you know, lay odds, but wouldn't the promise of damn-near guaranteed sex rather be cancelled out by the knowledge that this is the very last place you'll get to lay those odds ever again? And just as a technical point: isn't there a bit of hooplah usually surrounding the wedding lingerie? I'd imagine this costume would either render that somewhat redundant or suggest that the bride is in the honeymoon suite, ripping off her Vera Wang princess gown to reveal underneath an essentially sluttier, skimpier version of exactly what she just had on. 
   There's a small chance I might be over-thinking it here. 
   Zombie Bride manages in one outfit to both call into question every issue Regular Slutty Bride does while also asking some damn awkward questions about necrophilic leanings, how and why this particular bride not only chose to wear black to her wedding but also came to be buried in the dress, and why the dress itself appears to consist of a black tutu that's been attacked by a roll of toiler paper. Out of all the odd tastes represented by Sexy Costumes Of Things, this might be the one where I defer to the "to each his own" school of thought. Best to let that dragon lie, really.
   I cannot possibly argue with Sexy Ninja. There's just no bone of contention that withstands that particular crotch of doom.

   Lastly, out of all the costumes I looked at, endured and then inflicted on you, I think that the following is the most likely to cause embolism and/or extended periods of weeping. Behold if you dare Sexy Pimp.

  Did not every boner in the whole wide world just melt? Hath not this outfit the kind of spasm-inducing, orgasm-killing power of a whole fleet of naked Steve Buscemis mid pole-dance? Is there a penis in the known universe that could will itself not to simply melt down its owner's butt-crack at the very sight of a woman clad in head-to-toe zebra print with pink fur trimming? I say nay, and I apologise for the last time today for any damage I may have wrought on your sex life or mental health with this post. I can only imagine the extent to be vast. 

   It would be reckless of me to leave you in this state, so as I bid you au revoir for now, I shall cheer you all the way back up with the following- 

   Good night and good luck.

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