>Style Dare: The Backtacular

>This post originally appeared on HerNashville.com.

A reader sent me a link to a website for a product called the Backtacular. According to the site, it was a“gluteal cleft shield” — a fancy term for a sticky piece of cloth decorated with rhinestones and designed to cover the butt cracks of low-rise jean wearers.

On the website, models sat crouched in the lowest of low-rise jeans, their gluteal clefts ably shielded by Backtaculars that bore gem-encrusted fleur-de-lis or peace symbols. I giggled at the photos, stopping only when I realized why the link had been sent my way.

It wasn’t just for laughs.

It was a style dare.

And girl, you know I took it.

When my Backtacular arrived in the mail, I decided to give it a trial run on a date night out at Melrose Pub. As I sat at the bar in the center of a room packed with softball players, frat boys, sorority girls, and bidnessmen, I tried to work up the courage to share my Backtacular with the world.

I’ll admit, I had made my grand reveal a little more palatable — for one thing, I got rid of all my low-rise jeans after having children. Anyone who’s had kids knows that mummy tummies and low-rise pants work about as well together as Britney Spears and an electric razor. I also knew that I wasn’t willing to show the world my beedonkadonk, even with a strategically placed Backtacular to cover it.

Therefore, I wore my Backtacular well above my “gluteal cleft” with medium-rise jeans, so that I wouldn’t have to expose anything more than I would wearing a crop top. Still, as you will see, the effect was shocking. As I subtly hiked up the back of my shirt, my husband sucked in his breath disapprovingly.

Thus began the most embarrassing five minutes of my life.

Everyone was staring, according to Hubs. Everyone. Because …

What was that thing?*

Worst of all, as my lower back basked in the spotlight, my husband leaned over and whispered in horror, “It’s CROOKED.”

Yes, people, even if you really wanted a sticky piece of cloth to cover your “gluteal cleft,” the fact is that the Backtacular loses its adhesiveness the minute you start to sweat. And trust me, if you wear this thing out in public, you will be sweating. Profusely.

It quickly became clear that I was not meant to be Backtacular. After a minute or two, I yanked down my shirt and finished my drink in embarrassed silence.

I thought that wearing a Snuggie to lunch would be the most embarrassing thing I’d ever do for this column — that or posting video of myself using a Neti Pot.

But the Backtacular? It definitely takes the cake.