Spanx Quotes

I just want to let you know that when I look into my future, I see nothing but you.” That’s what Chaz had whispered in my ear at some point during the wedding last night. Then he’d whispered. “And you’re not even wearing Spanx.

If someone called me chubby, it would no longer be something that kept me up late at night. Being called fat is not like being called stupid or unfunny, which is the worst thing you could ever say to me. Do I envy Jennifer Hudson for being able to lose all that weight and look smokin’ hot? Of course, yes. Do I sometimes look at Gisele Bundchen and wonder how awesome life would be if I never had to wear Spanx? Duh, of course. That’s kind of the point of Gisele Bundchen. And maybe I will, once or twice, for a very short period of time. But on the list of things I want to do in my lifetime, that’s not near the top. I mean, it’s not near the bottom either. I’d say it’s right above “Learn to drive a vespa,” but several notches below “film a chase scene for a movie.

Here's to our enduring sisterhood. May it bind us together more tightly that the Lycra in my Spanx underpants.

Wear the Spanx. You might not want to squeeze them over your ass in the morning, but when you see that mac and cheese at lunch (do it, you beautiful monster) you’ll be glad they’re there, doing the lord’s work.

A good editor is like a pair of Spanx: firming up the body, making the subject look good, and absolutely invisible.

Natural law says that matter cannot be created or destroyed, but that was pre-spanx.

Pull-Ups cost so much because they sell the illusion that you are that much closer to having a potty-trained kid when in reality you’re not closer at all. They’re like the Spanx of diapers. Pull-Ups are a lie.

Ultimately, everyone who gets close to you is going to see inside your closet on its worst day, and their reaction to that is what will tell you if you’re going to make it or not. You can’t live an entire life secured in by Spanx.

Going beyond sarcasm straight to out-and-out insult is delicious, like wriggling out of a pair of Spanx.

He settled his big hands on her hips. He let them slide slowly down to cup her ass which she had jammed into a Spanx hide and seek high rise panty. Before slipping on the slinky purple faux wrap dress that her daughter had given her after surviving being held at gunpoint together gift the prior fall. Stella was fairly sure she would enjoy the sensation of Goat’s strong fingers kneading her flesh if it hadn’t gotten numb in its fierce polyester lycra prison hours ago.

Yes I am sure I am Super Woman now add more Spanx to the spandex in my suit please ;)

I wished I’d taken the time to ask around the lab about these Spanx things I had on. From this first experience with them, I decided they were created by Satan,

I can’t relate to your razzle-dazzle, your wish for voluptuous when my symphony is spanx.

(That said, Lord, if You ever want me to rediscover where my abs are, I want You to know that I too am open to that. I also thank You for the woman who made Spanx and I pray You bless her richly.)

Wear the Spanx. You might not want to squeeze them over your ass in the morning, but when you see that mac and cheese at lunch (do it, you beautiful monster) you'll be glad there're there, doing the lord's work.

My new dress itched and I wished I’d taken the time to ask around the lab about these Spanx things I had on. From this first experience with them, I decided they were created by Satan, or a man who was too thin for skinny jeans.

After writing (and sobbing and writing and sobbing) for hours, she was more than a bit delirious. Dizzy from pain. Loopy from meds. Fiercely proud of what she’d written. Desperate for waffles. Itchy from Spanx. And then, of course, there was her heart.

Our bodies cannot truly be hidden, no matter how many black outfits we wear. No matter how many pairs of Spanx we own. No matter how much we suck it in. Doesn't it seem like a better use of our time to just accept the fact that our bodies are our bodies and live our lives like there is no tomorrow? I'm pretty sure the answer is yes.

It was a fuckable dress. The kind of dress a man can easily bypass when he wants between your legs. The mistake women make when they choose their clothes for events like the one I was at, is that they don't think about them from the man's perspective. A woman wants her breasts to look good, her figure to be hugged. Even if that means sacrificing comfort and wearing something impossible to remove. But when men look at dresses, they aren't admiring the way it hugs the hips or the cinch at the waist or the fancy tie up the back. They're sizing up how easy it will be to remove. Will he be able to slip his hand up her thigh when they're seated next to each other at a table? Will he be able to fuck her in a car without the awkward mess of zippers and Spanx? Will he be able to fuck her in the bathroom without having to remove her clothes completely?

That did it. I launched myself out of the chair and was on Angelina before Aidan could stop me. We rolled around on the sticky floor – I was hoping it was just day-old drinks, I wasn’t giving it any more thought than that – grunting and swearing at each other. “Get off me, you cow!” Angelina shrieked. “You’re wearing a girdle? I knew it!” “It’s not a girdle,” Angelina gasped, trying to dislodge my hand from her hair. “They’re Spanx.” “Is there a difference?” “Girdles are for old ladies,” Jerry offered helpfully. “Now rip that hair out of her head!” I

I’ve often been told you have to play the game to get what you want, give a little of yourself up to get the results you desire. But what if that’s all bullshit? What if every time I put a strip of false lashes on and cross my legs on a talk-show stage, I am not getting any closer to creating the change I want to see in the world? What if every pair of Spanx, every morning-TV-ready joke, every Instagram shout-out to the person who made my dress only carries me farther away from my goal? And the goal is big: radical self-acceptance for women everywhere, political change so total it shakes the ground, justice and joy for those who have been used and tossed aside. And the goal is small: utter and unbridled selfhood.

If women had power, we wouldn't need Spanx.

Dark times are really fertile ground for change. This has been true for me more times in my life than I can count... something about being at rock bottom inspires you to look up. Where can I go from here? Anywhere. Some of the world's great inventions and innovations happened when someone was at their own rock bottom... my success with @spanx included. In fact, some of my life's greatest moments and breakthroughs happened after getting "buried.

Freakin’ broads were taking over the LAPD. What next? Pink Glocks and Spanx instead of bulletproof vests and all-steel Walther PPKs?

Thank you, Spanx. Because of you, my postbaby body can mold like Jell-O into a svelte, sexy little shape . . . for a few hours anyway. Your ability to lift and tuck simply takes my breath away, literally! May you continue to do God’s work and be the progenitor of the muffin top. THANK YOU, SARA BLAKELY!! Sincerely, All Women.

As far as missteps go, it’s not an inconsequential amount. “Our policy is we try things,” said then Google CEO Eric Schmidt, when announcing in 2010 that the company was pulling the plug on Google Wave. “We celebrate our failures. This is a company where it is absolutely OK to try something that is very hard, have it not be successful, take the learning and apply it to something new.” Cofounder Larry Page echoed the sentiment. “Even if you fail at your ambitious thing, it’s very hard to fail completely. That’s the thing that people don’t get.” And in a way, that’s what makes them so prolific. It’s the successful innovators’ dirty little secret: They fail more than the rest of us. SPANX

What I'm fetishizing is not poverty (contrary to some people's beliefs, I am smarter than that) or even utter freedom––a life without obligations seems lonely and borderline worthless––but rather the obliteration of any sense of expectation: the expectation that my femininity, my body or my work should conform to any set of rules, any aesthetic other than my own. I've often been told you have to play the game to get what you want, give a little of yourself up to get the results you desire. But what if that's all bullshit? What is every time I put a strip of false lashes on and cross my legs on a talk show stage, I am not getting any closer to creating the change I want to see in the world? What is every pair of Spanx, every morning-TV-ready joke, every Instagram shout-out to the person who made my dress only carries me farther away from my goal? And the goal is big: radical self-acceptance for women everywhere, political change so total it shakes the ground, justice and joy for those who have been used and tossed aside. And the goal is small: utter and unbridled selfhood.

It’s a blessing and a curse, being in this place of comfortable marital security. On one hand, you’ve got someone who will come right out and tell you if you have broccoli in your teeth or if you neglected to apply enough deodorant, somebody who will lie to you and tell you that you don’t need a face-lift and that he can see the triceps muscles you’ve been working diligently to unearth, somebody who’s seen you naked on numerous occasions without laughing or cringing or running screaming into the next room. On the other hand, you also have evenings out that look like this: [Sitting at a stoplight on the way to dinner.] ME: What are you doing? JOE: I’m trying to [yank] pull out [tug] this three-inch [rip] nose hair. Where did it come from, anyway? Damn it, I can’t get it. Hey, your fingers are smaller, and you have nails. Can you grab it? ME: You want me to pull your nose hair out? JOE: Well, I can’t sit there at dinner with it just hanging out like this. You didn’t notice it before we left? ME: I was very busy trying to squeeze into these Spanx, thank you very much. I think I have manicure scissors in the glove box. [Finds scissors, hands them to Joe. The light turns green.] JOE: Hold the wheel while I do this. ME: I don’t think this is such a great idea. [Joe sticking scissors tips up his nose and snipping randomly; Jenna gripping steering wheel with white knuckles.] JOE: Shit, I can’t see it without my cheaters. You do it. ME: Honey, I would rather not stick scissors up your nose while you’re driving. I’ll do it when we get to the restaurant. And, of course, I did, because it turned out Joe forgot his reading glasses* (which always makes for a fun and romantic game of “Wait, Read Me the Entrée Specials Again” at restaurants) so he simply couldn’t. “You’re going to write about this,” Joe accused me as I stashed my manicure scissors back in the glove box. “Are you kidding me?” I asked, offended. “Of course I’m going to write about this! This shit is comedy gold right here.” Like I said, the man knows me inside and out.

Before a big red carpet event, you can’t find a pair of Spanx in a 200 mile radius around Los Angeles.

At age twenty-seven, Sara Blakely generated the novel idea of creating footless pantyhose, taking a big risk by investing her entire savings of $5,000. To balance out her risk portfolio, she stayed in her full-time position selling fax machines for two years, spending nights and weekends building the prototype—and saving money by writing her own patent application instead of hiring lawyers to do so. After she finally launched Spanx, she became the world’s youngest self-made billionaire.

Wearing this magical tunic, I no longer resembled a gigantic muffin and now looked more like an overstuffed bag of bread. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better and I felt better. So I wore it, every day, for five years. I was wearing SPANX Men’s, a corset, on national television, at 290 pounds, in five million homes, every Sunday night.

Advice to Myself from Chelsea to Chelsea Be reckless when it matters most. Messy incomplete. Belly laugh. Love language. Be butterfly stroke in a pool of freestylers. Fast & loose. You don’t need all the right moves all the time. You just need limbs wild. Be equator. Lava. Ocean floor, the neon of plankton. Be unexpected. The rope they lower to save the other bodies. Be your whole body. Every hiccup & out of place. Elastic girl. Be stretch moldable. Be funk flexible. Free fashionable. Go on. Be hair natural. Try & do anything, woman. What brave acts like on your hips. Be cocky at school. Have a fresh mouth. Don’t let them tell you what’s prim & proper. Not your ladylike. Don’t be their ladylike. Their dress-up girl. Not their pretty. Don’t be their bottled. Saturated. Dyed. Squeezed. SPANXed. Be gilded. Gold. Papyrus. A parakeet’s balk & flaunt. Show up uninvited. Know what naked feels like. Get the sweetness. Be the woman you love. Be tight rope & expanse. Stay hungry. Be a mouth that needs to get fed. Ask for it. Stay alert—lively—alive & unfettered. Full on it all. Say yes when it matters. Be dragonfish. Set all the fires. Be all the woman they warned you against being. Be her anyway.

I learned that no doesn’t always mean no,” she said. “And that you may get thirty nos before you get the one yes.

Just because you are CEO, don’t think you have landed. You must continually increase your learning, the way you think, and the way you approach the organization. I’ve never forgotten that.” —INDRA NOOYI, Business Executive and Former CEO of Pepsico

Cyra, the phoenix, who’d finally regained the ability to assume a human form, stood at the front in a deep red satin dress flowing over a slightly pudgy body that caught the fabric in some of her belly folds. She was clearly not interested in Spanx. I was glad for it. She was a badass who’d nearly taken Austin down. I was glad she wasn’t forcing herself to be uncomfortable in order to fit a certain body mold. I’d always hated Spanx.

Here’s something self-help books won’t often tell you… growth is lonely. That’s why so many people become stuck… and stay stuck. It takes constant commitment, day in and day out to see real growth in your life. When I was building Spanx, I spent years, almost a decade, mostly alone. I took myself out to dinner alone, I went to department stores to sell Spanx alone, I even went to hibachi … alone! My social life was almost non-existent. But the alternative wasn’t an option. Before that I was living at home with my mom, selling fax machines door to door and trying to do standup comedy (but I wasn’t that funny). Sure, I had friends, went out all the time and dated a lot. But it got old… fast. Getting your shit together comes with a price. And not many people are willing to pay it. But if you are, it’s one of the greatest investments you will ever make.

Before we can make seismic professional, economic, and sociological changes, we have to squeeze out of our Spanx and remember how it feels to breathe—with sweat in our eyes, air in our lungs, and music pouring boldly from our speakers.

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