Recently, The New York Times wrote up one of their famous "trend pieces" on men’s shapewear, aka compression garments, aka Man Spanx, aka ... "The Mirdle." The article, like the clothing itself, has been a surprise hit, reaching the most-emailed list and making the rounds on the Internet.
And apparently the company can’t make them fast enough to supply demand.
Apparently, while some of us are dutifully stuffing our faces with hot dogs, hamburgers and potato salad at backyard barbecues, others are hunched over in the air-conditioned darkness of their home offices, furiously searching the Internet for the latest and greatest in girdle technology for men.
According to the article, every guy is wearing a modern girdle of some sort. There is even "shapewear" for a man’s junk. (Think of it as a "push-up bra" for a guy! You know -- for that ever-desirable below-the-belt cleavage.)
As a guy, specifically, I was disappointed to note that the piece named several celebrities -- notably, Matthew McConnaughey -- who allegedly sport Mirdles. Wonderful. McConnaughey is already great-looking, in shape, rich, famous, has just enough of a Southern accent to be charming, but not enough of one to be confused with a murderous hilljack.
Apparently it’s not enough for the McConnaugheys of the world to look like they were carved out of burnished maple. Any more lifting and sculpting feels superfluous ... and kind of like cheating.
Look, the fact is, body issues aren’t the exclusive provenance of women. And the concept of being able to look like you work out on your lunch break while in reality doing nothing but curling a burrito to your mouth is enticing to anybody. But women already go to ridiculous, kind of gross lengths to achieve, through artifice, some weird ideal of beauty. It seems like a slippery nylon slope to other "man beauty" shortcuts. If you’re going to wear a Mirdle, why not just try a cycle or two of steroids? Maybe some hair extensions? Then, before you know it, it’s spray-on tans, lifts in their shoes, makeup. Nobody wants this! Not you, not us.
Would I wear a Mirdle? No.
Would I judge a guy friend of mine if he wore one? Yes.
The creators of "men’s shapewear" try to sell you on wearing these Mirdles on special occasions. I could almost buy that, but something great better happen to justify Saran Wrapping my gut away under my button-down. If I don’t get every girl’s number at my friend’s bachelor party or don’t trick one into coming back to my hotel with me at his wedding, with my existing faux stomach and even more exciting stories of my faux career, then I would feel wildly foolish. Worse, if I were successful, my flirting barometer would be thrown wildly off. Was it my sparkling personality that got her, or was it the Mirdle?
Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that the Mirdle DOES turn my torso into Christian Bale–as–Patrick Bateman’s. Now I have this crazy hot body and not enough time to break off a piece to every lady who comes a-clamoring. Am I going to waste my Mirdled physique on just any girl? That average girl with a nice smile and emo glasses who listens to The National and is quick with a comic book reference? She’s not gonna cut the mustard on those nights when I’m sporting my Mirdle and I’ve upped the ante by adding a huge "shapewear" bulge in my pants. 
Besides, I was always under the assumption that self-improvement fell under making myself look better naked. If I do lead a slightly intoxicated lady to my home by the narrowness of my waist, what happens when I take off my shirt to reveal this evil elastic invention buffeted by 30 extra pounds of cheesesteak fat? That would be a stinging slap of disappointment on the level of finding out there’s no Santa Claus, or watching the Star Wars prequels. Instead, I’ll stick to feigning interest, fake laughs and buying drinks to get girls at bars -- it’s just a lot classier that way and neither of us feel cheated when we dramatically whip our shirts off.
Finally, while I normally am a live-and-let-live kind of guy, I’m also a firm believer in guys being guys. Guys watch football, drink whiskey, eat red meat, make fart jokes, listen to rock n’ roll music and as they get older become more fixated with the History Channel and westerns.
The long and short of it is that I can’t go to my buddy’s to drink Budweisers and watch UFC while wearing a spandex tube top under my Tapout T-shirt. I feel like Rich Franklin would be disappointed in me, through the television. There are no girdles allowed in the cage, and there are no girdles allowed on my buddy’s couch.
Jordan Newmark is a writer in New Jersey who covers MMA for Asylum, maintains an incredible blog about Kristen Stewart, and is single and Mirdle-free.
