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I enjoy indulging in a bit of sluttony now and then. I guess this is obvious because Olivia sent me this email about slutty cage bras and was like, “This made us think of you!” which was one of those things where I was like, “Ooooh, a compliment!” and then, “Oh wait.”
But like mama always said, “Take what you can get, Rachie.”
Cage bras have been on my radar as a “thing” for a while now. I associate them with music festivals and people my age doing a better job at being my age than I am. Seriously, I’m 23 and the other night when my friend asked me to grab drinks at 8, I said OUT LOUD, “No, thanks, it’s almost bedtime.” Please revoke my millennial card!
(Oh, shoot! If you’re an old, pretend you never heard me speak of the secret official ID millennial card. I’d hate to get in trouble with the Board. They might make me write another “25 Things to Do Before You Turn 25” post as punishment.)
Cage bras are clearly not only for the intolerable post-grad, pre-reality set because just recently, the inimitable Celine Dion was spotted in this little number when she appeared on “The Voice” to perform her duet with Ne-Yo. (????) I have nothing but respect for Celine in this Atelier Versace dress that seems to have opened of its own accord to reveal Celine’s be-caged and lacy rack.
I mean look at her. Talk about aspirations. Y’all don’t even want me to start going on about my girl Celine. When I was a kid, she was my everything. I mean, other kids had boy bands and JTT posters on their walls, but mine were plastered with the CD linings of Celine Dion albums. Then, when I was 13, my dad took me to Vegas to see her show live and, you guys, that was really when I peaked. Life since then’s been just a melodramatic slow crawl toward death.
I decided to test this trend in a place where suburban side-eye reigns supreme, where camo jackets outnumber the wild life, where every other vehicle is a pickup truck and every other pickup truck has nuts. That’s right, we’re in Mississippi.
Specifically, I went to Wal-Mart in Flowood, MS, a suburb of Jackson. Jackson is actually really cool, but its suburbs are exceptionally UNcool. I ventured there one Sunday afternoon because they have a pretty cheap movie theater and I needed to see "American Hustle." (SO GOOD, RIGHT?) The fact that it was Sunday is important because this is prime church crowd hours at the Wally World.
Since MY Versace dress is at the dry cleaners, we had to settle for a DIY situation. I took a black lace bra from Vicky’s Secret (this one, on sale!) and some black ribbon and just tied my titties up, basically.
As with many things I’ve done, I’m really not suggesting you try this yourself. It wasn’t as taut as elastic in a bra would have been. It really only looked legit when I kept my shoulders perfectly back, which is better motivation for perfect posture than years of my mother’s nagging ever was.
I wore that mess under a black shift dress I stole from my sister that I wore backwards and unzipped halfway.
If I was to buy an actual bra for this experiment and other miscellaneous fun sexy times, I would have gotten this one from Agent Provocateur, natch.
God, I’d love to be the kind of human who can throw down multiple hundos on lingerie. Maybe one day. For now, I’m rocking this makeshift slutwear that reminds me of one of my favorite Instagram comments of all time on this photo of Ellie Goulding’s weird bra contraption.
I was shaking as we walked into Wal-Mart, but that probably had more to do with the freezing rain outside than my nerves. I only get nervous in job interviews and when I watch the second half of "Titanic." Celine, take the wheel.
You know all those memes that compare expectations and reality? Well, my expectations from this adventure included side-eye from suburban mom types, leering looks from greasy dudes and maybe a few jokes from well-meaning folks. And that’s exactly what my reality was.
It’s sort of always astounding how obvious some men can be when they give you the up and down. I mean, I’m not here to pretend that I’ve never scoped a dude, but I can do it without becoming the actual embodiment of those cartoon dogs whose eyes bulge out of their heads when they see a lady dog.
I was walking through Wal-Mart with two men but that didn’t dissuade other men from leering anyway. I guess I don’t hang with the most intimidating bros, but still. Get it together, men folk.
Then I found this display of these Duck Dynasty plush dolls.
I’m vaguely aware enough of Duck Dynasty to know I should be offended by something one of the dudes said, but I’m not offended by their general existence. I think, personally though, I’d much rather watch a show about an actual dynasty of ducks, wouldn’t you? Steal that idea.
Then I spent a few minutes rearranging all the dolls into compromising sexual positions, which is not helpful in the greater scheme of things but I am nine.
The looks I got from people varied from harshly judgmental to vaguely sympathetic, and I’m not trying to pretend like I don’t deserve all of that.
I really can’t stand getting harsh looks from chicks who are with their boyfriends. Honestly, I didn’t feel sexy in this outfit. I mostly felt like a freak show. An attractive woman being near you, scantily clad though she may be, shouldn’t make you feel insecure about your relationship. I really just feel like you shouldn’t be with a man who doesn’t still proclaim, “Damn!” every time he sees you naked, even after a few years. That’s just my opinion though, and nobody takes seriously the girl with her tits out in Wal-Mart.
At this point, a friendly older gentleman asked me and my photographer/boyfriend if we were “making a movie.” I replied, “Not exactly,” as I pondered what kind of film this would be. Then, because I’m actually this awful, I said, “It’s for ART.” If this was a movie, I should have spontaneously combusted right then and there.
I think I might go back and buy that camo jacket. It was so warm and flattering! I just want to fit in.
My boyfriend was having a harder time with this project than I was because he was born with “shame” capabilities in his brain, so we got going soon after I climbed on top of the treadmill display.
Overall, I’d say this was pretty fun. Would I do it again? Probably not. I hate Wal-Mart. Would I actually buy a cage bra? Who’s to say? Do you own one? I’m thinking about getting a lot freakier in 2014.
Now you tell me -- what’s the "sluttiest" thing you’ve worn in public?