Maid in diapers?

A few years ago, it appeared in the Obs a testimonial article telling the story of a servant wearing diapers (in French). In the ABDL community, we are very skeptical about this story, for several reasons: first of all, it's a bit much. Indeed, being forced to wear diapers, the humiliation of being dressed as a woman and infantilized is a very widespread fantasy among the profiles of the community. This kind of experience, men are ready to pay dearly for it with dominant women. Then, there are inconsistencies between the different stories. If we cross-reference different sources (testimony from France Culture, YouTube interview with a sociologist), we notice details that are not the same, such as salary, certain situations, etc.

That said, we all recognize the fascinating contribution of this story, whether it is true or not. It feeds the collective imagination of the ABDL community and enriches the stories surrounding this fetishism that is still often misunderstood. A big thank you to the one (an infiltrator, perhaps?) who revealed this intrigue, adding a layer (no pun intended) to a fantasy universe.

Here is the article in question:

Damien was a servant in a wealthy French family ten years ago. He tells his story.

Damien (*) has been a "French maid" for three years. After reading our report on The rich seen by their servants, he wanted to give his testimony. Sensitive souls please refrain.   

"When I saw the cover of "L'Obs", on domestics, with this photo of a maid's apron, it shocked me to the core. My past was catching up with me. I read it and I recognized myself so much in the testimonies collected. My name is Damien, I am 31 years old, and I too was a "maid". And this uniform, although feminine, I wore it. That was ten years ago.

I was unemployed and I had heard from acquaintances about a very wealthy lady who was looking for "a" domestic worker. I was 20 years old, I applied, even though I am a boy and she had specified that she wanted a young girl. On the appointed day, I came. It was in the mansion where this lady, a sixty-year-old, lived. She looked me up and down, then she said:Oh, well, that'll do just fine. You'll have to be docile, eh? I want someone very docile."

Her conditions were very special, however: since she had only ever had maids, she wanted me to be dressed as a maid! With the maid's uniform, the collar, the headdress and everything!

How I Became “Rosa”

Another whim, she wanted to call me Rosa. Because she had always called her maids Rosa.

Normally, the position paid 1,100 euros net, but since I was a boy, she doubled my salary. I was on 2,200 net, room, board, laundry. I had only known small jobs in catering, where I barely earned a few hundred euros. I had stopped studying just before my BEP, my parents could not provide for my needs ad vitam eternam. I really needed the money. In fact, it seemed like a godsend to me, especially since the manor house, with a large park, where I was going to live, was really magnificent. In short, I told myself that for that salary, I could make a few concessions. And then I was 20 years old, I was very naive. And docile, yes, certainly.

This lady was wealthy. In addition to this mansion in the countryside, where she lived most of the time, she had a huge apartment in the 16th arrondissement, in Paris. I never saw her husband. I think he worked in finance. Their family was a traditional family, very particular about customs and the art of dining etiquette.At her house, we measured with a tape measure when we set the table, so that the space between the plates was exactly the same. And the parquet floor, we scrubbed it on all fours! 


On the staff, there was a governess. And another maid. Her real name was Valérie, but my mistress (that's what they say in the business, or "madam"), had changed her first name too. She called her "Maria". Valérie/Maria, like the governess, had been in her service for 20 years. She came from a very modest background, and she was very grateful to "madam" for giving her this job and keeping her.

When we spoke to each other, in front of the governess, we had to use our maid names. Maria and Rosa, that is. And of course, we were 'at the doorbell': obliged to run as soon as she rang for us."

The first day, I was very shocked. The governess wanted to take me to try on uniforms. And she handed me… a diaper. I said “is this a joke?”. The governess said “no, not at all”. I thought it was a test. To see if I was really docile. But then Maria explained to me what the diaper was for. For long housework, table services where you act as “furniture”, when you stand for hours, as you tell in the article…

Our boss didn't want us to use the toilets on the ground floor, which were reserved for the masters, so we had to go up to the maids' floor, and as a result, she thought that wasted too much time. In short, it was mandatory to wear a diaper. On those days, the governess would mark our names on the diaper, with the date.

Since everyone seemed to think it was normal, I didn't protest. I was too shocked to react. I only cried that night, the first time I put on that maid's dress, with the tights, the plastic panties, for the smells, and the diaper that stopped me from walking.

The 7th floor

In Paris, I remember, I had to leave the uniform store dressed like that! While normally, to go outside I was not obliged to keep my girls' clothes. I was introduced to the concierge. She did not show any surprise, to see me dressed like that, nor by the fact that I was introduced under the name of Rosa.

I went up to the 7th floor, the floor of the maids' rooms. There, in the evening, when we had finally finished, we sometimes chatted, and I came across some of these girls who, like Maria and me, also wore diapers: proof that my boss was not the only one with this obsession. There were Spanish girls, Portuguese girls, a few Asians, who were less integrated, because they spoke French badly. I was a bit of an attraction: the boy dressed as a maid. But no one made fun of it, it was good-natured. And they all knew that mistresses often have funny whims! There were Turkish toilets, and a shower on the landing, which we shared. 

The very narrow service staircase served all the beautiful apartments: it was not practical when you crossed paths with baskets of laundry, because there was no room for two people to pass. The staircase arrived directly in the kitchens, with, before, a small airlock with a mirror, to readjust your outfit.

Why didn't I just leave right away? I don't know. I needed the money, I thought I'd do it just long enough to get back on my feet... And then I stayed for three years. It's weird. I had conflicting feelings towards my mistress. Sometimes I wanted to wring her neck, when I was in diapers, for example. Or when I heard her talking about us maids to her friends.

Once I heard her boast about 'having tamed me well'. Another time she was discussing diapers, as if she were giving them a great tip. 'It allows them to concentrate on their work,' she said. And she even took me to task: 'Isn't that right, Rosa?' I had to say: 'Yes, ma'am.'

At those times, I hated her. But another part of me was attached to her. She could sometimes be kind. Even generous: for my birthday, she offered me a week's vacation in Tunisia.

The uniform, a second skin

It's strange, it's like you become someone else. I was like I was in a parallel world. I only saw black and white, the color of our maids' uniforms, or pink with stripes, another color of blouse, very common.

Eventually, we believe that all this, this whole strange life, is normal."

Everything is done to control us, the uniform, the language, the rules of life. When we wanted to go out to the cinema, we had to ask permission, for example. In the kitchen, she made us wear bibs so as not to stain the uniforms. When we were told off, we had to look at our feet, especially not look her in the eye, and say "good ma'am", "sorry, ma'am". And at first, when she congratulated me, she would say to me "Well done my daughter, you were very docile today".

The uniform was like a second skin that I put on to perform this play.

In front of her, I was forced to speak of myself in the feminine, I had really become 'Rosa', completely at the service of my mistress. And then during my holidays, I became myself again.

I didn't tell my friends or my parents about what I was going through with this lady, it was too humiliating. I just said that I worked for this family, very rich, it was very well paid, so no one asked me any more questions. Even today, I have never mentioned what happened to my family or my close friends. However, I knew that I would not stay in this job forever. In the evenings, I worked to prepare for civil service exams in the administration. I passed the exam after three years. And I was able to resign. Become myself again. But even today, when I think about those three years, I am a bit in a daze. I wonder how I could have accepted all that.

(*) First name and nicknames have been changed.

The same (?) story on France Culture

This story was then taken up in Les Pieds sur Terre, on France Culture (the “diaper” section around 15 minutes):

https://www.radiofrance.fr/franceculture/podcasts/les-pieds-sur-terre/butler-majordome-servante-des-domestiques-au-service-des-ultra-riches-5785280

I'm also reposting the "interesting" part, so as not to lose this little nugget:

A sociologist corroborates this testimony

This testimony is also found in interviews with Alizée Delpierre, a French journalist and author known for her investigative work on social and cultural issues. The story of diapers has created a bit of a buzz, and she has been invited several times on sets to talk about it.

For the record, I sent her an email to ask her what she thought about the fact that her diaper story was very present as a fantasy in the kinky communities. I'm still waiting for her answer... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯