I have a friend close to my age, whose guyfriend complained that her underwear aren’t sexy enough. *sigh* Really, Guyfriend? Really? Life is neither a porno, nor a Victoria’s Secret catalog. I didn’t like sexy underwear when I was arguably sexy. I certainly don’t like them now. Now, I like underwear that give my butt a little life, my tummy a little support, and hit me at the waist so I don’t have to deal with my belly fat escaping from under the top of the bikini style panties that I trade off and on with my ladypants. Ladypants. Not Granny Panties. Ladypants.
But, yes, sometimes I wear Granny Panties. You don’t like that? Suck it. Sometimes, I wear great, big, cotton drawers that are cool, comfortable, and breathe in the crotch-sweltering heat of Texas summertime. In fact, I am wearing such drawers right now. No heat rash for me!
Listen, I always want to look my best–even when I am scruffing around the house, I am (at the very least) aware of how I look (though I might not do anything about it–I do think about it.) But I quit buying in to the media fantasty that underwear are about anything other than keeping my bits away from the inner lining of my clothing and furniture, and smoothing out lines under fashion many years ago. Well before I got married, in case you worry that once he put a ring on it I went out and bought the tallest pair of underwear I could find.
I have owned a g-string or two in my time. I even owned them back when it was visually appropriate for me to wear them. I did not like them. I did not like that I had a permanent wedgie–ditto and worse with thongs. I wore them because I thought it was the expectation, and because the supermodels I idolized were always talking about how a g-string was a girl’s best friend.
I also owned tanga bikinis, Brazilian cut panties, scoops, string bikinis, side-ties, and any other filmy under-confection you can imagine. Hated them all.
My cousin, M, will tell you about the underwear envy we had when we were little. I always had white nylon and lace panties from Her Majesty. She had colorful cotton panties with days of the week printed on them. It was hilarious as adults to realize how jealous we had been of each other’s underwear. I’d have given her the lot of my lacy undies for just her Saturday and Sunday.
Nylon is hot. Cotton is comfy.
When it comes to adult times, certainly my wardrobe changes. You don’t wear your Fruit of the Looms to seduce. I’m not worried about comfort then, but I’m still aiming for flattering. And where a thong might have been flattering 15 years, 40lbs, and one large baby ago, now it is a sight gag in a Ben Stiller movie. I refuse to set myself up as a punchline just because Big Media has convinced us that the Very Visual Creatures we call men cannot have happy endings unless we are wearing 3″ of elastic and polyester that cost $25 a pop, and another half pound of padding under cheap satin that costs upwards of $50 per. Maybe if I could talk my husband into wearing one of the old flamingo g-strings for men that Frederick’s of Hollywood (whose sexy underwear is among the most comfortable, and longest lasting–I highly recommend them for your flirtier frills.) used to sell? Then we could be sight gags together.
Flattering for sexy times. Comfortable and supportive for the 16 hours a day that I am up and running. I do have a motto: You are only as well dressed as your worst pair of panties. Keep ’em clean. Keep ’em in shape. Keep ’em flattering.
You have to wear what works for you. So, to my friend whose guyfriend made her feel small because her panties were big: Buy a pair of his and hers fishnet thongs. If he’s willing to wear it, then go for it! If he isn’t? You know what you’re dealing with and where to drop him off.
The Outside Lane 