This treacherous crime was most recently observed yesterday, while I indulged in a bit of post-holiday shopping. Victoria’s Secret, that haven of polyester lace and sweatpants with gendered colors stitched across the bum, was having a sale. A great, big, Please Back Up The Truck For Our Cheaply Made Underwear sale. Hooray! My credit card company rejoiced!
My rear end did not. There were all sorts of choices, of course. I could buy thongs, hipsters, bikinis, and even something called a cheeky panty. (That last, I can only guess is some sort of insolent, but loveable, undergarment. Perhaps it has Oscar Wilde quotes on the tag?) None of these, however, met my new underpinnings requirement: proper coverage. Even ignoring the dreaded thong, these garments were engineered not to support or flatter my body, but to seductively uncover it. The hipsters covered my hips, yes, but not most of my lower butt region. The bikinis would cover the bum, but not that odd thigh-meets-pelvis region up front. Which should be covered and which should be left shivering and exposed to the cruel winter air, for proper sexiness? It was like a Sophie’s Choice of my nether regions!
From these options, I can only assume American women are forever in danger of having our clothes ripped off by passing strangers or rogue trolley cars. Ergo, underneath our clothes, we must look as much like adult film actresses as possible. Heaven forbid someone see us in – gasp! – actual panties. Why, if my Volvo were hit by a skydiving llama, I’d be the shame of the emergency room!
This sucks. Y’all, I like real underwear. Why must I be expected to wear mere suggestions of it instead? Reasonable underwear, the kind that covers one’s entire bum and doesn’t dare venture into places reserved for Ryan Gosling, is awesome. When did it become not only unfashionable, but actively frowned upon? Last I checked, men aren’t trying to cover their cash & prizes with pieces of cloth no wider than dental floss. Yet, not only are we taught that full underwear isn’t sexy, but it’s given a derisive nickname. The granny panty. Cue lightning and thunder.
Well, whatever. I think Granny had it right. You can’t tell me I would look hotter wearing butt-floss than this:
I just don’t believe it. Real underwear makes me look better, both with and without clothes on. Ladies, there isn’t one among us who hasn’t fallen victim to unfortunate lines created by bunching hipsters or migrating thongs. Just think – it’s possible for us not to worry about what crazy antics our underwear will get up to next. We could put on a garment that not only flatters our figure, but won’t start playing a game of Twister halfway through the dessert course. Can I get a hallelujah?
There is, of course, the argument on behalf of guys. Heaven knows, we can’t leave this important wardrobe decision up to women’s delicate little brains.The male half must prefer us in these wisps of cloth, or else we wouldn’t contort ourselves into them each morning. Sorry, but I’m calling foul on this one. For generations and generations, we wore reasonable underpants. Hell, for generations, we wore too many underpants! Men seemed to enjoy them well enough. We have all their billions of descendents walking around as a testament to that fact! My new outlook is this – if a guy is lucky enough to see my underwear, he probably won’t care if they’re retro lace panties or a red polyester thong. He should just be super excited about getting to that point at all. So, why not wear what makes me feel pretty? I can tell you, it won’t be a mysterious contraption that resembles nothing so much as a mesh butt cage (Link slightly NSFW).
I am through with garment-enforced wedgies, more torturous than any junior high prank, and trips to the bathroom just to rearrange my underwear situation. In 2012, I am taking a stand against ridiculous tiny knickers. If you need me, I won’t be at Victoria’s Secret, but instead kicking it old school with the hot “grannies” of What Katie Did and Dollhouse Bettie.