I have a friend who once told me that she vowed to herself upon first hitting puberty that she would never, ever wear a nude bra — it was too boring. Verifiably, she had a rainbow of undergarments neatly organized in a drawer. But when she told me this, I naïvely wondered why it mattered. And that attitude has followed me to this day.
I might be able to wear an uncomfortable pair of pumps that I know leave my toes numb for a week after or grin and bear it when the camel toe from my high-waisted shorts cuts way too deeply to be humane, but I cannot, under any circumstance, stand uncomfortable underwear.
I will choose granny panties any day and no one can stop me. When they say that you can’t judge a book by its cover, I don’t think they were asking people to judge based on undergarments, but I must ask myself what it says about me that I prefer a high-rise pair of Hanes over a lacy G-string.
It should be noted that I care about what I elect to put on over my underwear (outerwear?). Does this then mean that I’m only concerned with what is showing externally so long as I am comfortable internally?
Maybe I just hope that anyone seeing my underwear at the end of the day cares about me enough to ignore how my ass looks.
Are people who wear thongs regularly more sexually free than I am? Do those boyshorts at Pink that say “WILD THING” on the ass make their wearers feel more wild? Do only the most basic of women wear bikini underwear? And what about going commando? What does that say? Better yet, what kind do you wear — and what does that say?
Image of Kate Moss shot by Mario Testino