Tactical Error

Recently, there has been an abundance of reviews concerning this corset. Here at Stylecunt, we feel it our duty to give you our own review. What follows is another conversation between Steamcunt and Stylecunt concerning the Tactical Corsets……

 

 

 

Steamcunt: Let’s examine this.

1. Corsets are intended to make you look thinner.

The Tactical Corset straps a bunch of shit to your midsection, completely obliterating the intended silhouette. 

 

Stylecunt: I can already sense that this idea is going to spiral out of control, and send the alt majority five years backwards in fashion. 

It reminds me of those velcro suits people wear.

Then fling themselves into walls.

 

Steamcunt: The garment is a study in self-defeat.

2. Corsets squeeze and bind your torso.  This defines them as corsets.  A garment that does not constrict is not a corset.

By definition, a corset is impractical.  Wearing it in any sort of practical situation, particularly one dealing with potential physical harm is, at best, mind-bogglingly stupid.

 

Stylecunt: It apparently works for vampires.

 

Steamcunt: That’s a good example, actually.

That corset was so badly-fit that it was flapping around Beckinsale.

Because otherwise she would not be able to MOVE.

 

Spit Spat

The topic: These spats. 

Stylecunt:  It’s like, the spats are made of cake. 

 It should be marketed as ‘granny craft’.

‘100 fairies were killed to make these spats’.

 It’s like doilies for your feet.

 

Steamcunt: Tea cozies for the teapot line of Fluevogs.

I found the perfect boots to go with them.

 

Stylecunt:   Tell me that they’re made of unicorn hide.

 

 

 

 

Steamcunt: Dude, they are motherfucking cakepirate boots.

 

Stylecunt: Rococo New Rocks.

Or simply..

Rococo wrecks.

 

Steamcunt: New Rockoco?

 

Stylecunt: 17th century glam.

It makes a statement.

 

Steamcunt: “Make a wish an blow the man down”

 

Stylecunt: “My nose may be falling off from syphilis, but at least my feet look like royal cupcakes”.

 

 

 

Stylecunt: Just what my shoes always wanted, a collection of Jo-ann Fabrics dustbin scrapings glued into spats.

Lets go and put an insane amount of detail into accessories that are farthest from the eyes as possible.

‘You’ll have to get on your hands and knees to truly experience my spats’.

‘But please, don’t look up my Lolita skirt’.

 

Steamcunt: These are the kind of thing you do for extra credit in Home Ec and when you take them home at the end of the semester, your mom says they are “fun”.

So naturally, you go into business on the internet.

 

Stylecunt: Probably went to a school where you get a smile instead of a grade.

 

Steamcunt: (art school)

These are for people who really get off on Victorian sexually mores.

When just a hint of foot-bloomer was enough to get you raped by cads on the pneumatic subway.

 

Stylecunt:  I bet they have some uses.

You could throw them at Jack the Ripper.

 

Steamcunt: Absolutely.  The plastic buttons get up to killing speed.  It’s all in the wrist.

And of course we’ve all been at those fucking parties where the hostess doesn’t have any spare doilies, and some clumsy sow stains the whole stack.

 “Pardon me” isn’t good enough.

You spend the rest of the afternoon with a sopping brown doily.

Incidentally, Sopping Doily is the name of my Rasputina cover band.

It’s also an obscure sex act involving the last brown discharges of menses.

I read that on Wikipedia.

 

Stylecunt:  I wonder if King Louis knows his curtains are missing.

 

Steamcunt: Is it entirely beyond the pale to make fun of this woman for interrupting her product line photo collection with a retrospective of her dead cat?

Maybe it’s too soon.

Maybe she makes cat mufflers.

 

Stylecunt: Fluffy was killed in the great accessorie war of 2009.

He gave his life for fashion.