Confessions Of A Pastie Maker

Yesterday I had a delightfully calm, almost tourist-free day. My new pal Lisa called and we decided to go to the Musée de Cluny, officially known as Musée National du Moyen Âge. Few tourists go there for some reason. Yay! I'll tell you all about that later. But, during our planning conversation on the phone, Lisa let it slip that she had worked very hard the day before, making 6 sets of pasties.


Not the ones stuffed with meat. Those are spelled with a "y." I just want to make sure you're following me here.

Lisa has a friend here in Paris who designs very high-end burlesque-style lingerie and who also puts on burlesque shows. Her friend had an upcoming corporate show, and those dancers needed them some shiny new pasties. So Lisa became a pastie apprentice, and now that she's seen her creations bouncing around the stage at a Paris venue, she can officially put Pastie Maker on her resume. I wonder if she can now consider herself a Pastie Master?

So, I had to get the scoop on how they're made. And how they're applied. And. And. And.

My first question, being who I am, was: "So, did you have to make them to measure?" I had an instant picture pop into my delightfully filthy mind, of a unique but easy measuring method. It was related to the method my sister taught me years ago for marking the place on the wall where you wanted to put a nail to hang a picture. Make sure you're wearing dark-colored nail polish (men, lean in) and hang the picture wire on one finger, place the picture on the wall in the vicinity of where you want to hang it, and then flick your fingernail on the wall to leave a red mark right where the nail should go.

So, I was thinking...put on a whole bunch of dark red lipstick...

Ok, sorry. I'm sorry. Really, I am.

"Yes," Lisa said (completely unaware of the measuring method that was going through my mind at that moment), "I just took a water glass and put it down on the leather and drew a line around the outside."

Huh. A water glass. I'll be darned.

Then she cut the leather circles out. Lisa told me that it has to be leather so it's soft on the dancers' skin. Next, she made one cut from the outside, straight into the center of the circle and stopped. Are you with me? Then, she pulled the one side of the cut leather over the other until the circle became a cone. "But not too much of a cone!" Lisa emphasized. She had been informed that some of the ladies did not like their pasties to be pointy.

Definitely no Pointy Pasties. I was fascinated to know that women would have Pastie Preferences.

When she had achieved the subtlest of coniture (this is not a word, by the way - but it should be), she sewed a line down the overlapping pieces. The next step was decoration. She had to place and then glue circles of sequins to cover all of the leather. Then she attached the tassels.

Ah. Tassels. I have always liked that idea. But that's probably because I have this special talent (shhh) for making my breasts jump around, independently of each other. And if I had tassels on them, well, how much fun would that be? I know! I am so amazing! After only one glass of wine, I have forced my friends to watch my talking, leaping breast cabaret. My breasts each have their own personality, and thus, have their own opinions. I am constantly having to slap them around to stop them from fighting. I threaten them with going to their room, and usually they obey. It's fun! And free! Your children will like it too.

My next question: "How do they attach their pasties?" I always thought they worked like those plastic hooks you buy. You lick the suction cup and stick 'em to the wall. But since those fuckers never work (and whatever I have hung from the hook has fallen to its crashing death onto the cold and dark floor - usually in the middle of the night so I can have a heart attack), I worried about tassels flying asunder and bare boobies making an untimely debut. (I just learned that this is called "Popping a Pastie.")

"Oh, they use eyelash glue."

Well I'll be a monkey's uncle. Eyelash glue. I just had another mental image, involving eyelashes, eyelash glue and nipples. Not only could my breasts talk, but they could WINK too!

Ok, sorry. I'm sorry. Really, I am.

(Image stolen from Black Market Babies Burlesque MySpace page. She's in Utah! She also has a fabulous song playing when you go to her site: Kiss of Fire, by Georgia Gibbs. Just listen to those words.)