Page 35 of Barging In

“Urgh,” slipped out of Clem’s mouth before she could stop it.

Jasper chuckled. “Not a fan either then?”

“Nope.”

“Sometimes I wonder if he only backed the project to get her out of London so he could… pursue other interests.”

“I think that’s exactly what he did,” Clem said, lips tightening.

Jasper gave her a curious look, but then his face softened, He seemed comforted by the idea that Victoria was confiding in someone.

“Sorry about that,” Victoria said, returning to them. Her gaze swept over Jasper’s bright orange waistcoat and tie, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly .

Clem clocked it immediately. Was the colour really that offensive to her?

“Shall we begin?” Jasper asked, grinning as he strode ahead and held the museum door open.

“Why do I get the feeling I’m at an interview for a job I haven’t applied for?” Clem whispered to Victoria.

She placed a hand gently on Clem’s shoulder. “I said no pressure, and I meant it.”

As they entered the museum, a bright, open space welcomed Clem.

Light poured in through the large dual-aspect windows.

In front of her stretched a long timeline, charting the evolution of the corset from the 1500s to the twenty-first century.

Beside it, a silent video played on loop, showing rows of women seated at factory machines, sewing corsets with swift, practised hands.

Jasper led the way as Victoria pressed a hand to Clem’s back, urging her to walk in front.

All it did was send a shiver up Clem’s spine and confuse her legs.

She wondered why Victoria had joined them; surely, she knew the museum inside and out?

Not that she was complaining. Any extra time with her was a welcome treat.

“The corset is one of the most controversial garments in fashion history,” Jasper began, “pulled between power and restraint, elegance and repression, empowerment and victimisation over centuries. A coercive apparatus through which patriarchal society controlled women and exploited their sexuality but also an emblem of beauty, youth, and social status.”

He led them through various sections, each themed by historical period. He spoke of the Elizabethans and their stiff stomachers, the Georgians with their panniers and bum rolls, and the Rococo era, when fashion was at its most theatrical, particularly for aristocrats like Marie Antoinette.

Reaching the Victorian section, Jasper continued with his commentary.

“The modern corset, as we know it — a heavily boned, waist-shaping garment — didn’t become widespread until the Victorian era,” Jasper explained.

“It was designed to discipline the unruly female body and reshape it into something more palatable for the male gaze. It wasn’t only a reflection of rank, elegance, and chastity; it was a means of control.

Women struggled to put them on alone, and it took time, reinforcing dependency and curbing spontaneity.

The corset became a metaphor for the broader constraints of womanhood, limiting not only the body but also women’s roles, rights, and freedoms.”

Clem grimaced at an X-ray showing how tightly laced corsets had compressed the ribs and shifted internal organs. A shiver ran through her.

Jasper leaned in. “Don’t worry, tight lacing was only a fad.”

He led them on to a display of mannequins modelling corsets beside a full-length mirror. From a table, he picked up a corset.

“Here, Clem, try one on.”

She reached out, but Jasper redirected the garment towards Victoria instead. “You’ll need help.”

Victoria took it, glancing at Clem with eyebrows raised in silent question.

She shrugged and nodded, having always wondered what it felt like to wear one.

Turning to the mirror, she raised her arms as Victoria stepped in front of her, reaching around to place the busk over Clem’s tightly fitted V-neck T-shirt.

Her fingers worked deftly at the front, adjusting the corset around Clem’s bust. Starting at the bottom, she fastened each hook in turn, working her way up until her fingers accidentally brushed the curve of Clem’s breast.

Clem’s breath hitched. Victoria froze, then stepped back. Their eyes met, locking in a moment that felt electric.

“Sorry,” Victoria murmured.

“It’s fine,” Clem mouthed, offering a small, reassuring smile, acutely aware of Jasper’s presence nearby.

Clem finished fastening the front, letting her breasts settle prominently atop the corset.

Behind her, Victoria was pushing and pulling at the laces, gradually tightening the corset.

Clem caught her reflection in the mirror as the corset cinched tighter around her already slender waist. The sensation was strange and unfamiliar.

Did it make her feel powerful or confined? She settled on both.

Once Victoria had finished, Clem watched her gaze shift to the mirror.

A smile twitched at the corners of Victoria’s lips as her eyes narrowed, roving appreciatively over Clem’s body.

It was enough to send butterflies fluttering in Clem’s stomach.

It had been a long time since someone had looked at her like that, and she wasn’t imagining it — Victoria’s eyes were unmistakably all over her.

Jasper coughed, drawing their attention back to him.

“As you can feel, women were severely restricted by a corset,” he began as Clem attempted to move about in the garment, “which was fine for those who weren’t required to move or breathe much during the day, but for working women, it was a problem.

The more physical activity required, the more mobility took priority.

Women in rural communities and the very poor would often forego corsets altogether or wear looser bodices or laced stays.

Those who did wear corsets were often trying to emulate the elite, creating tension between aspiration and reality. ”

“I wouldn’t want to wear one for more than a few minutes,” Clem said, feeling a sudden panic pooling in her chest. With a nod to Victoria, she began untying it.

Her eyes caught something suspended from a steel beam. It was an old-fashioned bicycle.

“What’s a bike got to do with corsets?”

“Ah, everything!” Jasper chuckled. “Have you ever heard of the Rational Dress Society?”

Clem shook her head as the pressure released from the corset, bringing much relief to her ribs.

“Founded in 1881 in London, it campaigned for practical, comfortable, and healthy clothing for women. They opposed the restrictive, impractical, and sometimes dangerous fashions of the Victorian era, especially tight-laced corsets, heavy skirts, and high heels. This woman here,” Jasper said, nodding at a blown-up sketch of a lady in what looked like a large, puffy skirt with a centre parting, “Lady Florence Harberton, was a vocal advocate for cycling clothing, championing divided skirts and bloomers. It was a sort of ‘first wave’ of feminism. They even had a manifesto.”

Clem smiled, warmed by the stories of women who had pushed back through history. Part of her wished she’d lived then, just to kick up some proper stink.

Jasper pointed to some newspaper clippings displayed in a cabinet. “They were widely mocked in the press. Most people saw them as radicals and eccentrics, but their efforts helped pave the way for the abandonment of corsets after World War I.”

“Much to every woman’s relief.”

Jasper chuckled again. “Don’t forget a lot of women went along with them, especially in high society. Some found them supportive, particularly if they were standing for long periods. Others took pride in tight-lacing challenges, seeing a tiny waist as a personal achievement.”

Clem’s lip curled. “Seriously?”

“One could argue that corsets were empowering. They’re no different from heels today. Many women still balance discomfort and damage against fashion and confidence. Remember, fashion opened doors for women back then, so not taking part could marginalise a woman socially.”

She hadn’t thought of that. There was a lot she hadn’t considered about corsets and how deeply they’d woven themselves into society. As they moved on, dummies modelled modern-looking corsets that Clem recognised, though they were more like what you’d find in a lingerie drawer.

“Once a purely functional garment, the corset has become a symbol of eroticism, sexual empowerment, and even an art object, appealing to a wide spectrum of people regardless of age, gender, race, or class. Many modern wearers embrace corsets to reclaim femininity or express autonomy. For some, it’s about power; for others, play. ”

Clem nodded. “I suppose, like anything, it’s the reason behind it that matters. If you're doing it for your own enjoyment, by your own choice.”

“Precisely.”

Having gone full circle around the museum, they arrived back in the entrance, where Clem eyed an old table to one side with small bits of machinery beside an old sewing machine.

She hadn’t noticed them when she’d entered.

A sign above identified them as a hole-punching machine and a bone-cutting machine, then invited visitors to try them out.

Beside the machines, small containers held metal eyelets whilst scissors and pieces of fabric lay next to a sewing machine .

“Thank you for a very informative tour,” Clem said, turning to Jasper. “It’s certainly given me a lot to think about. The corset is no longer a humble item of women’s attire to me.”

“That’s the general idea,” he beamed, his body straightening. “I’ll leave you two to it — I have another tour starting shortly.”

As Victoria led the way back out to the wharf’s reception area, Clem wondered if Jasper ever tired of repeating the same information. What she knew of him so far suggested he didn’t. He had spoken with passion on their tour, as if it were his first time telling the story.