Shopping & Style Article |
Fashion Masochist: Hot Shorts!
High-rises of a different sort have wriggled their way into the spotlight. Rachel Baker gets briefed.
By Rachel Baker
It’s official: Breasts are out, the butt is in. The short short made a comeback last spring, but this year’s micro versions from names such as Chanel, Prada, and Chloé are boosting the rear view like never before. While at first glance their shape resembles trunk-style bikini bottoms, hot shorts—newly glamorous in satin, sequins, and silk—are hardly meant for the sand.
The experience: Though my mother often tells me I look like Beyoncé, there’s nothing bootylicious about my backside. So when I shimmy into a pair of H&M’s hot-shorts knockoffs, I’m shocked that the dangerously high-cut seat and strategically placed pockets are rather figure-flattering. I make off with pairs in white, black, and electric blue.
Donning them beyond the fitting room, however, is another thing entirely. Since preparation is half the battle, a week before my test run I get serious about my faux-tanning regimen, hoping to downplay cellulite. To be extra safe, I book a between-appointment bikini wax.
I’ve grown accustomed to the ritual catcalling that marks my daily walk to work along Massachusetts Avenue; hoots fly even when I’m wearing jeans and a winter coat. Setting out in black shorts, a dressy tee, and patent leather pumps, I’m resigned to a hellish commute. But as I parade by with 30 inches of leg (and a little cheek) exposed, an unprecedented silence greets me. I take it to mean there’s just no fun in shaming the shameless. I consider it a victory. I feel invincible.
That is, until I reach the office. Once I’m around people I actually know, simply wearing the shorts begins to seem like a full-time job. Male coworkers are predictably awkward, with many avoiding interaction altogether. Whenever I pass a higher-up from another department, I’m compelled to blabber on about how I’m researching a story.
But the biggest challenge is keeping my physique on high alert. While the heels help with the all-important butt lift, I’m constantly reminding myself to stand up straight, poke out my tush, suck in my stomach, and flex everything. Even when seated, I’ve got to stay on my toes—legs together, of course—to fend off cottage cheese thighs. It’s quite the workout.
The verdict: Yes, they’re hot. But shorts are meant to be as relaxed as a summer Sunday, and these are not. For the rest of the season I’ll be upping my inseam number from 1 to 3 inches. Warm shorts are more my speed.
The experience: Though my mother often tells me I look like Beyoncé, there’s nothing bootylicious about my backside. So when I shimmy into a pair of H&M’s hot-shorts knockoffs, I’m shocked that the dangerously high-cut seat and strategically placed pockets are rather figure-flattering. I make off with pairs in white, black, and electric blue.
Donning them beyond the fitting room, however, is another thing entirely. Since preparation is half the battle, a week before my test run I get serious about my faux-tanning regimen, hoping to downplay cellulite. To be extra safe, I book a between-appointment bikini wax.
I’ve grown accustomed to the ritual catcalling that marks my daily walk to work along Massachusetts Avenue; hoots fly even when I’m wearing jeans and a winter coat. Setting out in black shorts, a dressy tee, and patent leather pumps, I’m resigned to a hellish commute. But as I parade by with 30 inches of leg (and a little cheek) exposed, an unprecedented silence greets me. I take it to mean there’s just no fun in shaming the shameless. I consider it a victory. I feel invincible.
That is, until I reach the office. Once I’m around people I actually know, simply wearing the shorts begins to seem like a full-time job. Male coworkers are predictably awkward, with many avoiding interaction altogether. Whenever I pass a higher-up from another department, I’m compelled to blabber on about how I’m researching a story.
But the biggest challenge is keeping my physique on high alert. While the heels help with the all-important butt lift, I’m constantly reminding myself to stand up straight, poke out my tush, suck in my stomach, and flex everything. Even when seated, I’ve got to stay on my toes—legs together, of course—to fend off cottage cheese thighs. It’s quite the workout.
The verdict: Yes, they’re hot. But shorts are meant to be as relaxed as a summer Sunday, and these are not. For the rest of the season I’ll be upping my inseam number from 1 to 3 inches. Warm shorts are more my speed.
Originally published in Boston magazine, July 2007
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