Plastic Home Page

Today is the great day! I won the first prize in a European contest for the best appearance and the finest catwalk performance. The finale took place exactly a week ago; two days later I received the letter with the good news.
The contest was organised by a high-tech professional clothing company located near Amsterdam which wanted to enter the 21st century with a totally new product line, the "New Century Line".

I am seated in a brightly white-lit room and quietly await the things to come. I am at the second floor of "DIEMEN HIGH TEC", the company which had organised the contest. There is no window; apparently this room is only a waiting room. I skim some business magazines and take a look at the prospectus of Diemen High Tec. The prospectus contains an extended article about the New Century Line; remarkably without any illustration. It is obviously intended for the professional reader. The business magazines are equally dull and prosaic... I learn nothing from them, and I have to wait.

I let the furniture and the atmosphere of the waiting room make a firm impression upon me. Everything looks beautifully crisp and bright. The sober-playful shape of the hat-rack contrasts with the straight-edge look of the rest of the furniture. I take off my new rain jacket and rain trousers. They fit well to the hat-rack. It is strange to remark that clothing is in harmony with a hat-rack, and not the other way around, but after all I am a guest over here.

My rain garments are made out of a translucent nylon-reinforced polyurethane sheeting, a rather novel waterproof fabric which hangs in beautiful folds, even in cold weather. It looks High-Tech in an exciting and somewhat strange way. Does this come from the contrast with the chrome plating of the hat-rack?
 

Then the door to the manufacturing hall opens. A gentleman aged about 35 years clad in light springtime garments walks on and cordially welcomes me. He introduces himself as Jan Willem van Wijk and admits me into the production hall. What I see inside defies every description!...

The hall reminds me most of all of a cleanroom for the manufacturing of computer chips. On a long table are two nylon coveralls of the kind which is always worn inside a cleanroom. One of these is shiny bright-white with the slightest haze of silver-grey, the other consists of a wet-look brick-coloured fabric.
Some steps farther there is another table with two coveralls, both of them looking like lightweight air suits. My host Jan Willem tells me that those are the New Century Line models. So I see them now for the first time. Jan Willem announces that the show will begin at 60 minutes from now. I am supposed to show these new lightweight air suits. Plenty of time to try both of them and to feel if they are comfortable to walk and to sit in.
I observe the look and feel of the white nylon suit. The most beautiful of white I ever saw, with a shade of silver-grey. The nylon fabric is provided with a glossy coating at the inside. The outside is wet-look. The suit looks awesome and feels awesome.

I ask to Jan Willem if one would usually wear one's street clothes underneath such cleanroom suits. "Most of the time no.", he says. "The work is normally performed at 21 Celsius, which is rather hot to keep your coat on. The same is true of a dust overall, however lightweight it may be."
I undress partly and keep on only my black boxer shorts and my sunflower-yellow T-shirt. I put on the cleanroom suit and enjoy how the fabric slides down the arms and legs. Smooth and soft and yet not damp in the least. But that does not mean anything, I know. Ordinary plastic also feels fine and dry in the beginning.

Jan Willem hands me a wide black belt with a brightly yellowish red click-on-and-click-off buckle. "This belt is intended for the shift leader.", he says. Of course; the overalls are of the same make, and only their sizes are different. "All of his or her co-operators wear equally wide blue-grey belts with mint-green buckles."
I cannot help imagining an entire ballet performance with myself as the lead dancer. I look at myself in the mirror and feel involuntarily getting excited; only because of my black boxer shorts the outside world does not yet notice it...
I put on the hood. Now I am looking like one of those chip bakers who often appear in advertisements. The silver-grey colour can never be reproduced in print as it looks in reality. The hood exactly fits to my head. Fortunately it does not get down almost over my eyes, but still covers all hair of my head.
I walk a few paces, bend to the floor, and make a few dancing poses and paces. The fabric yields very smoothly; one almost does not feel wearing an overall. It should be fine home-dress.

I ask for some pieces of music for the catwalk show. I get slowbeat, mellow, something like World Fusion, and some more nice modern trends. I let the sounds make a fair impression upon me, I walk more easily to some of the tempi, and less easily to others. Finally I select two light pieces of music for showing the nylon overalls, and a slowbeat procession music with choir, strings and low-pitch percussion to accompany showing the air suits.
I succeed in walking over the catwalk in such a way that exactly at the climax of the music I can perform a quite short dance on a kind of stage at the end of the catwalk. A single pirouette, a plié, a piqué, and then it is over. The music stops, and I guess that in a short time during the real show the light will be then turned off.
 

It is time for the next new suit. I undo the belt and slowly lower the zipper while still enjoying the sensations which came with this first suit. Every time I take off a rain jacket, and in particular when I am somewhat hot, I get excited from my own body scent. Today is no different; the air carries a whiff of that typical very soft smell of fresh polyurethane. I will instinctively remember this combination, and time and again I will reach all degrees of excitement...

I turn to the table with the new suits. Jan Willem informs me that these air suits have to do with a new procedure in the manufacturing of semiconductor chips. Industry succeeds in getting more and more transistors on a square inch thanks to the use of almost absolutely dust-free cleanrooms. Nowadays we deal with no more than about 10 dust particles per litre of air. Jan Willem argues that these dust particles originate for the better part from the people who are at work inside the cleanroom. I understand the picture: no next generation of computers without chip bakers in total-enclosure suits, head included.

One of the air suits is made out of a material similar to that of the overalls. The difference consists of an almost transparent layer of plastic, reinforced by a far more widely woven fabric of nylon. I wonder why. I will observe soon enough once I have put on such an all-enveloping costume. The other air suit does not have the nylon webbing and just consists of glass-clear plastic.

Jan Willem tells me one more important thing. " Of course you will need ventilation with this clothing. For this we use the systems which are also applied in gas suits for biochemical research. We have to reckon with the possibility that the ventilation has broken down and that the spare oxygen supply does not work either. Then you are on your own with the air still inside your suit.
We are working hard on fabrics which transmit a sufficient quantity of breathing air but keep out ultra-fine dust, viruses and bacteria, and furthermore, do not pulverise. For the time being we must use the today's airtight plastic sheeting.
We want to show to our purchasers that one can safely and comfortably stay at least five minutes inside the suit. One will then have always ample time to leave the cleanroom following standard procedures. That is why I am going to ask you: are you prepared to wear this total-enclosure suit as long as you can muster without oxygen supply?"
 

Wow! A Suffocation Fashion Show! I did not dare dream of it during the last days past, but now it will finally happen once in my lifetime!... Fashion shows always stimulate my curiosity, and indeed one sees more and more often plastic and shiny nylon. On television it is always just a flash. Attending the fashion show is impossible most of the time. So I would put up a kind of show at home just for myself; then I can make it last as long as I want and as exciting as I like.

Often I fantasise aerospace-like things: I would wear a shirt with a metallic luster, silver shorts, and as a helmet a small transparent plastic bag which fits well over the head and looks like a goldfish bowl when fully blown up. Or a tall plastic overall with a wide cleaner's bag over the head, or a long-sleeved transparent plastic total-enclosure shirt.

And now I am allowed to show a costume which brings all this together! Of course I am utmost eager to do this. I am well-trained in economical use of oxygen and I picked up some stage experience with theatre and music. This fashion contest was a virtually indispensable opportunity to make a step forwards in the rough part of the show and glitter business. I hope only that I can keep my inevitable erection out of sight lest I would go off as unprofessional.

I take my time to make a close inspection of the new designs that I will wear in a short time. The plastic-only suit raises my greatest interest. It is made out of a virtually glass-clear plastic sheeting. The plastic will touch the skin directly and may very well gather enough moisture to stick to the skin after some time. I lay the suit over the arm and observe how nicely and flexibly the sheeting falls: not a single wrinkle, nothing to be seen. Presumably it is that rather novel silicone sheeting without plasticiser. Anyhow, it is scentless: a welcome property of an air suit. One must be able to wear the air suit for many hours without the inconvenience of unhealthy smells of plasticiser.

This air suit is provided with a zipper which begins at the crotch, but in contrast with ordinary overalls runs along the left shoulder, along the left side of the neck, all over the head to the right side of the neck, and ends at the right shoulder. It is a double Ziploc.
From own experience I know how little air comes through a single Ziploc; this double one certainly does not leak any air at all, and of course it is twice as strong as the single zipper.
The front of the air suit contains a ventilation hole. Without such a hole or an easy-going valve there is no airflow, and the only way to get fresh air in the suit would consist of periodically sucking empty and blowing full the suit. And not everybody likes the sensation of being sucked empty...
Like the whole suit, this hole can be closed by means of a double Ziploc. This is necessary in case the air supply ceases and one wants to keep in all air which is still inside the suit.
 

I undo the first garment, again keeping on my T-shirt and my shorts. The yellow and black of shirt and shorts exactly convey the atmosphere of industrial danger. Most fitting for a show of protective gear. I decide to skip the second nylon coverall for this moment and to proceed with the clear plastic air suit.
Slowly I pull down the Ziploc and carefully step into it - the one leg first, a while later the other leg - and I feel the soft coolness of the plastic sheeting. A shiver of enjoyment engulfs me... I take my time for pulling up the Ziploc inch by inch; I have advanced to the shoulder and the suit now covers chest and back.
I stop pulling up the zipper for a short time, just to observe the faint body heat in the air flowing out and the coolness of the air flowing in when I make some movements. A new shiver engulfs me and gives me gooseflesh all over. Always a great feeling. For everybody who is into plastic or rubber this is a well-known sensation, especially in wintertime in the cold of the sleeping room.
Then I pull the zipper all way up to over my head and finally down to my other shoulder. Only one opening is still left: the vent hole at my chest. I do some movements of kneeling down and getting up, meanwhile observing how the air flows out and in. A little dance performance makes clear that the vent hole does not let in enough fresh air to stay really at ease.
Finally I squat completely down to get as much air out of the suit as possible, and close the vent hole. The last connection with the open air has now gone.

I spend some minutes in my familiar atmosphere. The feeling of the plastic touching the skin is utmost marvellous. By pressing out almost all air earlier I have now the sensation of innumerable soft fingers caressing me all over the body... Involuntarily I get gradually more and more excited and make step by step a mental picture of how I will perform my catwalk show, and what the show will look like.
Far before all air is gone and the suit is too wet with condensation I put off the suit. First open the vent hole to make sure that inside and outside air pressures are equal. Then pull back the main zipper inch by inch, just to enjoy the feeling of relief when it slides smoothly over my head, along my shoulder and way down to the abdomen. Imagine that one cannot move that zipper a single inch once it is closed...
 

Still some time left to try the other two suits. I quickly put on the brick-coloured nylon overall, take a look in the mirror, adjust the fabric at the wrists and the shoulders a few inches, and enjoy the trim look.
The nylon-reinforced plastic air suit is as functional as the plain-plastic one, but for me at least it does not have quite the appeal of the other suit. The nylon webbing is at the inside of the suit. Seen from a short distance it looks a little coarse, not as smart and tidy as plain plastic. I guess that the webbing inside makes the suit less uncomfortable in wearing it for a prolonged time. No time now to try this out. Furthermore I have no comparison, for I did not want to have the plain plastic suit full of moisture. I put the suit on and off just to feel if it fits well and to check the smooth operation of the zippers.

The show will start within a few minutes. The New Century Line total-enclosure suit will come last. I change back into the first garment, the plain cleanroom overall. I put on the shift leader's belt and check my appearance in front of the mirror.
Then I stand ready in the wings. The stage lighting is still off. A sense of anticipation gradually takes hold on me. I see the audience sitting in three rows of about ten persons each. I observe my host Jan Willem sitting near the end of the front row. He finishes his talk with his colleagues, waves a sign to the lighting booth, and gives me a friendly and reassuring nod. The hall lights are dimmed, the talks in the audience subside, the stage lighting is switched on and within a few seconds it comes to full strength. The beginning of the performance: always a moment of exquisite theatre magic...

A catwalk routine always follows the same general pattern: you walk up; you do a few turns and paces to show how the fabric falls and how the illumination is reflected; you walk back and meanwhile you do again some movements to show the special merits of the garments you wear; and off you go. In that sense the first and second suits, the white and coloured nylon ones, are pieces of cake. The air suits will be different: less freedom of movement while I have to show various standing, sitting and squatting positions, and of course the restricted air supply.
I change into the nylon-lined air suit, draw the Ziploc shut up to my shoulder, put a lightweight air supply unit on my back, turn it on, and finally draw the Ziploc all over my head.
I leave the air vent open and a soft steady airflow keeps me cool inside my suit. Walking, sitting, squatting down and the accompanying dance-like movements are as easy as with the first suit.

Then I do a safety demonstration. I close the air vent and let the suit slowly be blown up like a balloon. The airflow comes to a halt and the air supply unit is automatically switched off by an overpressure sensor. I can no longer sit down, let alone cower down or creep over the floor. Now I could easily get into a helpless position. I let myself topple forwards.
No way to get back on my feet until I open the air vent and squeeze out most of the air inside my suit. I try to roll on my back. At first I do not succeed. The air supply unit makes quite an obstacle; furthermore I am afraid that I will damage the suit when I try too hard. The difficulty is to get my one arm stretched downwards along my body in the first place, and then to try and roll over, pushing against the floor with my other arm.
I have only the air inside my suit to breathe, and I have already been busy for about two minutes. If I pretend that the outside atmosphere is poisonous, then the only way to get out of my predicament is to open that damned air vent. I push and press my hand underneath the suit and try to get hold on the Ziploc for the air vent. Finally I succeed in pulling it open. All this took another two minutes. I guess that my oxygen is now about half-way used up.
The overpressure disappears, the suit slackens and the air supply unit resumes its quiet work. Gradually the stale air flows away. Within a short time I get easily on my feet again.

The music is still on. I spend the remaining time just walking, sitting, squatting down and making the accompanying dance-like movements.
 

The last suit definitely makes the most taxing and exciting part of the show. I will have to stay inside totally cut off from fresh air for at least five minutes - that was part of the agreement.
After the experience with the previous suit I have some second thoughts on the wearer's personal safety. No backing out now, however. Such thing would be highly unprofessional, and furthermore, the expectation of my lifelong plastic dream becoming true is too strong.
Like before, I take my time to put on the suit. I observe the reflection of the dressing room lights from the arms and legs of the suit and I enjoy every inch of it.  With my hands already covered in plastic I can easily click on the shift leader's belt. Once again I enjoy the mysterious reddish golden colour of the buckle. The belt fits exactly around my waist; I guess that the suit will not feel too uncomfortable on the bare skin.
Slowly and carefully I draw the Ziploc along chest, left shoulder and head, and finally close the last few inches at the right shoulder. Then I let the air supply unit blow in a portion of outside air, the last fresh air I will have for the next minutes. I want to move completely freely, so I let escape some air through the vent hole until the overpressure has gone. I press the button for the lighting booth to signal that I am ready. I enter the stage, the hall lights are off, the stage lights come to full brightness in a few seconds.

The wrong music! It is the familiar tune and rhythm, but it is the third mix instead of the first on the CD I selected for the last part of the show. This track will last about eight minutes, much longer than I reckoned. Of course I could stop and ask for the right track, but again my professional pride makes me to proceed. And of course, the situation carries somewhat of the unexpected which inevitably will occur when one works daily in precarious environments wearing this kind of air suit...
This Industrial Slowbeat music does not ask for fast and intense techno party dance, but nevertheless I have to save literally my breath.
I spend the first three minutes doing the usual walks, poses and turns. Then the choir joins the strings and drums of the first part of the piece. On the sound of these heavy strains I put more and more contraction and release in my dancing. Would like to observe how the audience reacts, but dare not look around because otherwise I would break the tension. Inside my plastic air suit I am heating up and getting covered in moisture. Get bit by bit excited by human aromas...
After about three more minutes I get really short on oxygen. Still two minutes to go... The music returns to the calm mood of the beginning. I take off the belt and relax somewhat in my dancing. The air below the belt gives me some oxygen, but nevertheless with each bar of the music my breathing gets heavier and deeper, and my state of excitement gets higher and lighter. I am afraid that I can no longer hide my signs of horniness... I feel the bulge in my shorts grow and grow. Certainly the audience will observe all this: a most amusing thought...
Just before the music stops I shoot my load. At home I would wear plastic shorts directly on the naked skin, and the spunk would come free and dribble down along the legs of the air suit. Not so today: I will not go off as unprofessional.

A loud applause sounds; my audience obviously liked much this nylon and plastic fashion show. I succeed in making a first bow without showing too much of my upcoming distress. Back in the wings I quickly slide my suit open and have all the fresh air I need now. Fortunately the zipper did not get stuck. My greatest worry is always: will I get out of my enclosure in time? Can I tear a hole if zips would get stuck and ropes could not be untied fast enough? And how would I feel and react when everything would go terribly wrong?...
Still wearing the suit with the front and back head covers hanging down I acknowledge the applause twice more, but today I will not do an encore...