If you could translate my underwear drawer into a pie chart, you’d see one big chunk—some 75 percent — dedicated to basic black bikinis. A small 20 percent would indicate the ratty days-of-the-week skivvies that are verging on seven years old (I know). The remaining sliver would count for the few “sexy” underthings I own—a lacy pink thong, a hot but poorly fitting corset-inspired bra, some sheer boyshorts.
There are certain things I hate to spend money on, and underwear is one of them. In the past, the idea of wearing seductive undergarments had always been appealing, but when I really thought about it, lingerie seemed problematic. First of all, I’d need someone to wear it for, because that ladymag tip of “wearing sexy underwear for yourself” has never done anything for me. Also, was it worth it to drop the money? Assuming I had someone who would appreciate it, wouldn’t it just come off right away, or remain completely covered for most of its time out of the drawer? Keep reading »