“If you want to feel sexy, wear sexy underwear!” It’s one of those fun, sexy, and kinda-naughty-but-not-enough-to-be-shameful pieces of advice that gets passed around in female circles. I’ve had conversations with friends on this subject, I’ve read about it in Cosmo and equally-classy women’s magazines, and I’m pretty sure Oprah has said something to this effect.
Up until I got to college, my underwear came exclusively in economically thrifty packages from Target. They are awesome for several reasons:
- Sooo cheap!!! $5 for a week’s supply of 7? Um, yes please!
- Soft and cottony… mmm
- Fun and colorful! Yay!
Then I spent my freshman year of college living in a co-ed dorm. I know that there is controversy about allowing young men and women to live so physically close together, but for a girl who was raised to fear boys, living with 22 of them all at once was a very educational experience. I’ll probably write more on that experience later, but back to underwear: we talked about underwear a lot. Actually, we talked about sex a lot, but underwear was a frequent tangent.
It was through these deep conversations with my floor mates that I learned that the clear winners in women’s underwear were these things called thongs. The term “thong” was not foreign to me because I grew up wearing thongs all the time. Of course, by “thongs,” I mean what the rest of the world calls, “flip flops” (my parents still talk about how much they love wearing thongs in the summertime. It’s embarrassing.). I had no idea what an underwear thong was until middle school, when I had a conversation with my friend who was talking about sexy underwear, while I was talking about summer footwear. Thanks to that horribly awkward experience, I at least knew what my college floor mates where talking about, though I had yet to wear one.
Intrigued, and feeling behind-the-times, underwear-wise, I decided that maybe I should try one of these things for myself. I went to my old trusted friend, Target, and bought a pair (probably for under $5! Go me!). I saved it for a special day when I knew I would be seeing this guy I had a huge crush on at the time, to see if Oprah was right.
At first, it wasn’t that bad, it was just different. I felt kind of sexy just knowing that I was wearing something scandalous under my jeans. But as the day went on and I realized that the string in my butt wasn’t going anywhere, it got increasingly annoying and uncomfortable. By the end of the day, it was all I could think about! Instead of feeling sexy, my mind was plagued with thoughts of my own discomfort, worry over whether or not this boy I loved could see this discomfort, and how I wished I had just gone commando instead. I was not confident, funny, smart, interesting, smiling, or any of the other qualities that I would normally associate with being sexy. I was just fervently annoyed at a stupid piece of string.
Since then, I have occasionally tried wearing them again, in hopes that I could get used to it and just feel sexy, dangit! I even somehow ended up with a few more pairs, but I always come to the same conclusion: it’s not worth it! They are currently stuffed in the back of my underwear drawer, along with all my ugly old worn out underwear that is reserved strictly for days when I run out of clean laundry. Maybe one day the thongs will come back out, but for now, I’m just going to wear what makes me happy and comfortable. I don’t care what Cosmo or Oprah says; being happy and comfortable makes me feel infinitely sexier than being distracted by a relentless wedgie.