There are a few things in life I like to indulge in: alcohol, shirts, shoes, smoking, driving above the speed limit, cheese, fresh artisan bread, a good latte, women's magazines, lavender soap. And then there are a few things in life I just can't deny myself, no matter how bad it gets or how much it will cost me: books, men, chocolate, the perfect dress, a chance of a lifetime, and underwear. Oh, the underwear.
Usually much to the delight of my men, underwear is basically the crack cocaine of my life. I get flat-out withdrawls if a pair has not been purchased within a month. I would probably be willing to trade my car for a Vickies' credit card with no limit and a floorboard-low APR. I am a staunch Vickie's Girl. I cannot pass a Victoria's Secret without going in and at least scoping out the 'wears. The Semi-Annual Sale is like a religious holiday to me, or Christmas, and it happens TWICE A YEAR. I am on a first-name basis with the staff of all the Vickies in the area and I get frequent tip-offs on the best deals, dates of sales, and new orders. I may or may not have personally funded one of Heidi Klum or Gisele Bundchen's infamously outrageous outfits for the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show by now. I also may or may not own over 150 pairs of underwear. (The true number is a closely guarded secret like National Security or Kim Cattrall's real age.)
That is "underwear." Not, excuse me, "underpants." (I wore those when I was three.) Not "undergarments"-- those are like Spanx and the full-coverage deals. Not even "undies," "grunders," "knickers," or "drawers." "Skivvies" is acceptable. What is never, ever acceptable is the cringe-inducing "panties." Saying "panties," especially if you are a man, makes me think of you holding a pair of five-year-old's underwear. The only people who can say "panties" and get away with it is Victoria him/herself and your lady grandmother. (And probably the Queen of England. She strikes me as a "panties" person herself.)
If you want to get technical, than by all means, let me inform you. Women can wear hiphuggers, cheekies, briefs: high-rise briefs, mid-rise briefs, low-rise briefs, boyshorts, thongs, g-strings or v-strings, tangas, bikinis, string bikinis, Brazilians, and garter sets. These all come in cotton, lace, mesh, satin, silk, nylon/spandex, no-show, and every pattern or color imaginable. They can be trimmed with anything from lace, to ruffles, to rhinestones, to sequins, to ribbon. The combination choices are enough to make your head spin. Men out there, right now, I know what you are saying. You are saying "Thank you for the pictures, but What. The. Fuck? A tanga and a bikini look totally the same to me. What are you women thinking?!" Let me tell you, unlike your collection of plaid and striped boxers, out of my collection, no two pairs of underwear are exactly alike-- there is no repeating here. Why would you ever want to, given all these options?
It all seem very extravagant, to a Marie Antoinette-level. I feel as if I should be reclining somewhere on a chaise lounge popping truffles into my mouth and cackling, "Let them wear Hanes!" But let me explain to you the draw of underwear: No other garment can dress your more to fit your mood than underwear can. No one else ever has to know that under your worker-bee required uniform, you are sporting man-eating skivvies. No one needs to know that when you are depressed, you wear black underwear even if the rest of your outfit is bright and cheerful. If lace makes you feel dangerous, great. If ruffles make you feel angelic, wonderful. I personally have a lucky Sunday Football pair that has a helmet print on the ass (this is why you love me). Just knowing that it's there, hidden, has the ability to affect your entire mood. A good pair of deliciously sexy underwear puts a spring in my step, a gleam in my eye, and an agenda in my mind like nothing else can. It's the power of mood, in a tiny scrap of fabric that I probably pay way too much for(average price for a Very Sexy lace hiphugger or cheekie at Vickies: $16), but am willing to, just because I know what the idea means to me: confidence. When you cannot fake it, you dress for it, from your bottom, up. I throughly believe that the most important part of a woman's wardrobe resides in her underwear drawer. (Also, not a good idea to hide things in there, ladies. It's always found.) The good news vis-a-vis price vs. quality of a pair of Vickies undies that is, if treated right, they can last you four YEARS. Legitimately. I've owned numerous pairs since I was 16, including my pair of "lucky underwear", and you better bet your sweet ass I'm still wearing them. Now, that's CPW (Cost Per Wear) for you!
Underwear are a woman's best friend; not dogs, and not diamonds. All you single ladies, go invest in a few pairs that make you feel like you, not Adriana Lima, should be strutting down the catwalk clad in next to nothing, because you, lady, are too hot for clothing to handle. These are the secret Weapons Of Man Destruction for you to wear not only on dates, but whenever you so choose to feel like the cat's lack-of-pajamas. And for those of you lucky gals in relationships-- go buy something your S.O has never seen before; maybe, something a little different then you would normally wear. Variety is the spice of life, and of the boudoir. (I just said "boudoir." I feel as if I should be elegantly smoking a cigarette out of an ivory holder and pouting at my French lover while calling him "mon petit chou." And if there was ever any question, that term of endearment alone is proof the French are flipping crazy. Although, they give us La Perla, so I will cease and desist my complaining.)
And while we're wrapping up the topic, let me lightly touch on men's underwear options. They are significantly shorter, so this will be (haha--) brief. You have briefs (AKA: tightie-whities or tightie-whatever colors), boxers, and boxer-briefs. (If you are European, you may have speedos and trunks and bikinis.) This is what I have to say: Boxer-briefs. Amen. They are like the Wonderbra for the man world-- they lift everything up and put it where it should be, make everything nice and tight, and show everything off to its full advantage. However, there is a rule: if you've got some extra flesh around your waistband, boxers for you, my friend. No muffintop. And if you are a beanpole and look like an emaciated African child in boxer-briefs-- boxers for you, too. I don't want to be thinking "feed you!" when I should be thinking "maul you, you sexy man-beast!" And no spoofy boxers, (yes, American Eagle, I am talking to your merchandise of the hot dogs and crabs and glow-in-the-dark hot tamales.) (I am not kidding. Follow that link. If I woke up to a short's full of glowing hot tamales coming at me, I would be out of that bed and running so fast the hinges on your front door would never close the same again. It's just like colored or glow-in-the-dark condoms-- whatever is coming at me, I want to be as natural, non-threatening, and serious as possible. I am trying to have sex here, not get raped by a circus clown. Thank you.) No one ever went wrong with classic plaid or preppy striped boxers. I am particularly partial to both patterns in blue, myself.
And yes, to answer your question, I could feasibly go for over a third of year or five months without ever having to do laundry for a clean pair or go involuntarily commando. And also yes, a Victoria's Secret gift card would be the perfect gift for me if you ever felt so moved. (Oh please, oh please, oh please, oh, please!)