Every morning before high school, in the 1950s and early ’60s, I heard the collective taunts of teenage girls twisting and screaming in their nylon pants over my little hometown. rice field.
Legs old enough to be shaved were old enough to be covered with nylon-woven nets that stopped at the thighs. Here things got serious.
The nylon didn’t stop there and needed a garter belt.
The garter belt was designed for one purpose — to give you something to connect to the top of your nylon. After making sure it wasn’t bagged above, the pulling process began.
I grabbed a large chunk with both hands and pulled it up. I stopped when my calves started hurting and my toes started curling. Hose’s floppy top (another word) dangled over his thigh like a firefighter’s boot on a street corner charity drive. .
I fastened a garter belt around my waist. It’s time to connect the nylons.
Elastic belts with corsets had metal hooks (two in the front, two in the back) that hung like small gun holsters for little outlaws. A white rubbery button swayed like a turkey wattle behind the hook, waiting to trap the nylon between the holsters.
There’s no woman over the age of 60 who doesn’t remember the feel of a button the size of a dime against her skin. They did deep circle tattoos on both sides of our legs. The back one was in pain after sitting most of the day.
We only endured them because our vanity crossed our pain threshold.
Also, throughout the day, the nylons had to be fastened. , again it was the bathroom.
By the time the final bell rang, the garter belt’s elastic hook had been stretched and tightened to its absolute limit. You walked like a Paul McCartney guitar, David’s slingshot paled in comparison to the potential of the weapon you had around your waist.
The speed and power of a loose garter hook, if used for evil rather than good, can easily blind or cripple a passerby with a single flex of the thigh.
After sitting all day on the sliding wooden desk and chair combos in each classroom, and pep talks on the sturdy bleachers, by the time the bus rattled on its square wheels to our stop, our Thighs were deeply dented and coins could be stacked. In the holes carved by the fasteners of the garter belt.
We didn’t complain too much about the discomfort of garter belts and nylons. If Jackie Kennedy and our favorite movie stars can stand it, so can we.
In the mid-to-late 60s, pantyhose finally became the fashion norm. We wriggled into our miniskirts with confidence knowing that no hooks or bare thighs would peek out from under the tiny hem.
good old days. Boy, I’m glad they’re gone.