I really had to think about what I would title this one. Remember when we first started this 'thing' we have here...remind me to tell you about the panty story, I said. Remember? You were curious weren't you? I knew that others might be too. That's part of the reason I chose this title. Why should others be able to slip in whenever they see a titillating title. Psh. What we have is special. I know you are here because you care. With a title like this one, you must.
My fashion education began with Vogue. I read it devoutly through high school. Somehow, I could afford it back then. Calvin Klein became my obsession (no pun intended). His ads papered my walls, like the Coreys, Guns n Roses, and Skid Row once did. Kate Moss's waif look and heroin chic confused me. I never cared to resemble her. Cindy Crawford and Niki Taylor made tall okay, doable, cool--almost. Their signature beauty marks made me feel that the jerk who tried to scratch mine off of my face really was a jerk and that having a mole on my FACE didn't make me a weirdo--as long as I remembered to tweeze it. Oh, get over it. If you aren't tweezing something, you probably should be.
Everyone makes mistakes, that's true. Oh, I could show you some pictures. I could. I didn't say that I would. And the thing is, we are all victims of the age in which we live, right? Here's an example. Home perm kits. There's a reason why stylists were called 'beauticians' when we were kids, and there's a reason why our moms were called 'mom.' I coveted the spiral perm. I only ever received one in my entire life, and that was when I was in my twenties. It was fantastic--and futile. It lasted less than a month. I don't even have photos of it. But before that, back when my mom was the closest thing I had to a chance at curly hair....I got home perms. The results varied. Sometimes, after two hours of perm rods and smelling like a skunk, my hair fell in crinkly awkward zigzags. Sometimes, nothing happened at all. Whatever the result, it was not fashionable, ever. I'm okay with that now. I sported a poof for years and loved every second, every curling iron from 1/8 to 3 inches, every sticky bottle of Rave, AquaNet, and Tresseme--super pump and aerosol.
In ninth grade I convinced my mom to buy something that I now know was the single worst fashion mistake (it wasn't a disaster, because I wasn't conscious enough to realize my error at the time) of my life. You know what it feels like when you see what you've waited your entire life to own, and maybe, maybe before that moment, you didn't even realize that you needed it....but then you do see it, and you have to have it? As an adult, I experience that a lot. The thing is, as an adult, I live in two categories: affordit or forgetaboutit. As a teenager who subscribed to Vogue, I wasn't affording much else. And yet, there we were in TJ Maxx--the best place to shop when you're a fashionably forgetaboutit teen--and there they were--the jeans, sizethree, I had to have. That's the last time I remember being a sizethree anyways, maybe for good reason. So these jeans, I also remember wearing only a few times...also for good reason. My good mother, she gave in and bought them with reservation. I'm sure you'll understand her concern. Picture this: light washed denim, black pleather chaps sewn on, and black fringe side detail down both legs. What was I thinking? I was thinking that these things were COOL. Too bad I was wrong. Too bad my mom didn't say, "sorry kid, but you're crazy." Too, too bad. Fail. Oh well, I tried. Thank God for the beauty mark, right?
So, I guess I've come along way. I've also developed a fashion conscience. Maybe I'm a bit of a style snob, but I don't see it that way. I'm not as judgemental of others as I am particularly self-aware. You'll never hear me say, who cares? I care. You'll also never hear me say, it doesn't matter. Everything matters. If you disagree, welcome to foundation education 101.
Fastforward to a time when I can buy what I want as long as I can afford it. A person's style often evolves when said person becomes financially responsible for said style. I don't know how people who live in pajamas factor into this....indifference maybe? Maybe their parents live in pajamas too. Oh, I love pajamas--especially stylish ones--I just love real clothes more. Pajamas don't generally require underclothes, real clothes do. Underclothes, underwear, skivvies--these are foundation pieces. Lesson one.
Color, fabric, pattern, line, cut....all matter. I can't wear certain things. I'm too tall, or my thighs are too big, or my shoulders too wide....I kind of know by now. Some things are cute, but try as I might, I'm not squeezing into something meant for a petite frame--lots of cute clothes are designed for a petite frame--blouses with buttoned short sleeve cuffs for example. Shift dresses with an empire waist, forget it. Bolero jackets. Thank goodness for the maxi dress. But before the fit, there's the foundation. And the foundation has oh so much to do with the fit. Need I, ahem--look up, say more?
Some girls love spanx or whatever equivalent. I can't bear anything tight. Even control top stockings make me ill--literally.
Okay, back to the foundation. There's a reason why some bras are white, some are black, some are nude, and some are anywhere in between. In between is entertainment value. I say, save your money and invest in the basics. Black bras aren't made to be worn under pastels or white. Anyone who makes this mistake is either clueless or desperate. Bras are foundational pieces. Do you show off the rebar in your home? Ever received compliments on your trestles? Clear is not the same as invisible. Clear bra straps reflect light and are, in fact visible, and well, tacky. At least cheetah print provides that level of entertainment...clear just looks like a sloppy attempt at invisible. The same is true with white under white....I'll get to that though.
So it's between classes and I'm sporting my favorite trousers. They are white--winter white--seasonless and just the right length to be worn with or without heels. I'm wearing heels, camel colored slingbacks. Camel matches everything. It's a neutral. A girl walks in. I'll refrain from commentary or description here. She approaches me.
"So is it true? What they're saying?"
The weather's fine, so we aren't getting out early....I figure there must be a rumor that I'm pregnant or something. It wouldn't be the first time, so I bite.
"Is what true?"
"That you aren't wearing underwear...."
I'm furious. In my heels I'm over sixfeettall. She's maybe fivefeetnothing; her braces twinkle, mocking me. She's a kid; I'm the teacher, and yet, I feel like I'm the child. She can't just approach an adult like this; she can't think she can ask such questions, how dare she? And yet, what I'm thinking above all else is, OF COURSE I'M WEARING UNDERWEAR! And, of course, I can't say that, can I? Sigh.
I can't even tell you what I did. I don't remember the reality of it. Oh, I remember what went through my head, and I kept my job, so I know I maintained enough composure to make it to lunch in the faculty lounge where I definitely unloaded everything to my comrades in arms. Our job is unlike so many others. Had I been in most other professions, I could have explained, I could have said, 'excuse me?!', I could have reacted, responded....But I am a teacher, and yet, some lessons aren't for us to teach. Like I said, I don't know what I did other than blow her off. Maybe the notes on Restoration literature ran a few minutes longer that day....I don't remember. But I know exactly what I wanted to do, what I wanted to say. I wanted to teach that girl and all of the curious for whom she spoke--I wanted to teach them a lesson--a lesson on foundations.
Here goes. Let's refer back to the basic elements of fashion I mentioned earlier: Color, fabric, pattern, line, cut. I already covered color, but I'll come back to that in a second. Undergarments can be made in most any fabric. Some, such as wool, burlap, or vinyl wouldn't prove very comfortable in my opinion, but everyone has their thing. Most conventional undergarments anyway, are made with a slippery fabric so as to reduce static and friction. Duh. In this respect, I guess vinyl could work....nah.
Pattern, again, is for entertainment value. Pattern is part of the fun. Line and cut kind of go hand in hand in undergarments, and while some would argue these can prove entertaining too--I'm not bothering to go there. This is a lesson in the basics, okay?
Thongs and boyshorts, even highwaistedgrannystylepanties were designed for a reason. The lack of visible lines in a thong means that when worn properly--ie UNDER clothing (not placed atop a leotard as was briefly popular in the eighties) a thong disappears and so do panty lines. And, if cut and properly fitted (size matters in this case!) a thong is also quite comfortable. If it isn't, it's too small. Still, there are those who feel too modest for a thong. A family friend once told me that she thought people who wore thongs were just gross. I replied, "well, so are panty lines." Boy shorts--which have short-like leg seams are another option, and so are bloomer style granny pants. As long as either of these are worn loosely, panty lines are avoided. However, if these are too tight, the legs will roll or ride up, and the lines creep back in along with bulges and leg muffins. Add a bold pattern, or a dark color under a light fabric, and you have a disaster. White under white is still visible. People notice. If they notice when the lines aren't there, trust me, they notice when the lines are there too.
So, yes, I was wearing underwear and apparently, I was wearing just the right ones. I guess this girl wasn't privy to Victoria's or Carrie's real secret. Skin colored--or nude-- underwear disappear under clothing. In fact, these are made in all skin shades, cuts, and sizes. I've been a 6 and a 16. I've worn every size. A nude thong is essentially invisible as long as it is, again, the appropriate size. If I wore a size 6 thong under a pair of size 10 slacks, you would know it and so would I. That wouldn't look or feel good for either of us.
Congratulations. You've successfully completed lesson one in foundations education. Questions, anyone? Be careful what you ask; I might just answer you.
My fashion education began with Vogue. I read it devoutly through high school. Somehow, I could afford it back then. Calvin Klein became my obsession (no pun intended). His ads papered my walls, like the Coreys, Guns n Roses, and Skid Row once did. Kate Moss's waif look and heroin chic confused me. I never cared to resemble her. Cindy Crawford and Niki Taylor made tall okay, doable, cool--almost. Their signature beauty marks made me feel that the jerk who tried to scratch mine off of my face really was a jerk and that having a mole on my FACE didn't make me a weirdo--as long as I remembered to tweeze it. Oh, get over it. If you aren't tweezing something, you probably should be.
Everyone makes mistakes, that's true. Oh, I could show you some pictures. I could. I didn't say that I would. And the thing is, we are all victims of the age in which we live, right? Here's an example. Home perm kits. There's a reason why stylists were called 'beauticians' when we were kids, and there's a reason why our moms were called 'mom.' I coveted the spiral perm. I only ever received one in my entire life, and that was when I was in my twenties. It was fantastic--and futile. It lasted less than a month. I don't even have photos of it. But before that, back when my mom was the closest thing I had to a chance at curly hair....I got home perms. The results varied. Sometimes, after two hours of perm rods and smelling like a skunk, my hair fell in crinkly awkward zigzags. Sometimes, nothing happened at all. Whatever the result, it was not fashionable, ever. I'm okay with that now. I sported a poof for years and loved every second, every curling iron from 1/8 to 3 inches, every sticky bottle of Rave, AquaNet, and Tresseme--super pump and aerosol.
In ninth grade I convinced my mom to buy something that I now know was the single worst fashion mistake (it wasn't a disaster, because I wasn't conscious enough to realize my error at the time) of my life. You know what it feels like when you see what you've waited your entire life to own, and maybe, maybe before that moment, you didn't even realize that you needed it....but then you do see it, and you have to have it? As an adult, I experience that a lot. The thing is, as an adult, I live in two categories: affordit or forgetaboutit. As a teenager who subscribed to Vogue, I wasn't affording much else. And yet, there we were in TJ Maxx--the best place to shop when you're a fashionably forgetaboutit teen--and there they were--the jeans, sizethree, I had to have. That's the last time I remember being a sizethree anyways, maybe for good reason. So these jeans, I also remember wearing only a few times...also for good reason. My good mother, she gave in and bought them with reservation. I'm sure you'll understand her concern. Picture this: light washed denim, black pleather chaps sewn on, and black fringe side detail down both legs. What was I thinking? I was thinking that these things were COOL. Too bad I was wrong. Too bad my mom didn't say, "sorry kid, but you're crazy." Too, too bad. Fail. Oh well, I tried. Thank God for the beauty mark, right?
So, I guess I've come along way. I've also developed a fashion conscience. Maybe I'm a bit of a style snob, but I don't see it that way. I'm not as judgemental of others as I am particularly self-aware. You'll never hear me say, who cares? I care. You'll also never hear me say, it doesn't matter. Everything matters. If you disagree, welcome to foundation education 101.
Fastforward to a time when I can buy what I want as long as I can afford it. A person's style often evolves when said person becomes financially responsible for said style. I don't know how people who live in pajamas factor into this....indifference maybe? Maybe their parents live in pajamas too. Oh, I love pajamas--especially stylish ones--I just love real clothes more. Pajamas don't generally require underclothes, real clothes do. Underclothes, underwear, skivvies--these are foundation pieces. Lesson one.
Color, fabric, pattern, line, cut....all matter. I can't wear certain things. I'm too tall, or my thighs are too big, or my shoulders too wide....I kind of know by now. Some things are cute, but try as I might, I'm not squeezing into something meant for a petite frame--lots of cute clothes are designed for a petite frame--blouses with buttoned short sleeve cuffs for example. Shift dresses with an empire waist, forget it. Bolero jackets. Thank goodness for the maxi dress. But before the fit, there's the foundation. And the foundation has oh so much to do with the fit. Need I, ahem--look up, say more?
Some girls love spanx or whatever equivalent. I can't bear anything tight. Even control top stockings make me ill--literally.
Okay, back to the foundation. There's a reason why some bras are white, some are black, some are nude, and some are anywhere in between. In between is entertainment value. I say, save your money and invest in the basics. Black bras aren't made to be worn under pastels or white. Anyone who makes this mistake is either clueless or desperate. Bras are foundational pieces. Do you show off the rebar in your home? Ever received compliments on your trestles? Clear is not the same as invisible. Clear bra straps reflect light and are, in fact visible, and well, tacky. At least cheetah print provides that level of entertainment...clear just looks like a sloppy attempt at invisible. The same is true with white under white....I'll get to that though.
So it's between classes and I'm sporting my favorite trousers. They are white--winter white--seasonless and just the right length to be worn with or without heels. I'm wearing heels, camel colored slingbacks. Camel matches everything. It's a neutral. A girl walks in. I'll refrain from commentary or description here. She approaches me.
"So is it true? What they're saying?"
The weather's fine, so we aren't getting out early....I figure there must be a rumor that I'm pregnant or something. It wouldn't be the first time, so I bite.
"Is what true?"
"That you aren't wearing underwear...."
I'm furious. In my heels I'm over sixfeettall. She's maybe fivefeetnothing; her braces twinkle, mocking me. She's a kid; I'm the teacher, and yet, I feel like I'm the child. She can't just approach an adult like this; she can't think she can ask such questions, how dare she? And yet, what I'm thinking above all else is, OF COURSE I'M WEARING UNDERWEAR! And, of course, I can't say that, can I? Sigh.
I can't even tell you what I did. I don't remember the reality of it. Oh, I remember what went through my head, and I kept my job, so I know I maintained enough composure to make it to lunch in the faculty lounge where I definitely unloaded everything to my comrades in arms. Our job is unlike so many others. Had I been in most other professions, I could have explained, I could have said, 'excuse me?!', I could have reacted, responded....But I am a teacher, and yet, some lessons aren't for us to teach. Like I said, I don't know what I did other than blow her off. Maybe the notes on Restoration literature ran a few minutes longer that day....I don't remember. But I know exactly what I wanted to do, what I wanted to say. I wanted to teach that girl and all of the curious for whom she spoke--I wanted to teach them a lesson--a lesson on foundations.
Here goes. Let's refer back to the basic elements of fashion I mentioned earlier: Color, fabric, pattern, line, cut. I already covered color, but I'll come back to that in a second. Undergarments can be made in most any fabric. Some, such as wool, burlap, or vinyl wouldn't prove very comfortable in my opinion, but everyone has their thing. Most conventional undergarments anyway, are made with a slippery fabric so as to reduce static and friction. Duh. In this respect, I guess vinyl could work....nah.
Pattern, again, is for entertainment value. Pattern is part of the fun. Line and cut kind of go hand in hand in undergarments, and while some would argue these can prove entertaining too--I'm not bothering to go there. This is a lesson in the basics, okay?
Thongs and boyshorts, even highwaistedgrannystylepanties were designed for a reason. The lack of visible lines in a thong means that when worn properly--ie UNDER clothing (not placed atop a leotard as was briefly popular in the eighties) a thong disappears and so do panty lines. And, if cut and properly fitted (size matters in this case!) a thong is also quite comfortable. If it isn't, it's too small. Still, there are those who feel too modest for a thong. A family friend once told me that she thought people who wore thongs were just gross. I replied, "well, so are panty lines." Boy shorts--which have short-like leg seams are another option, and so are bloomer style granny pants. As long as either of these are worn loosely, panty lines are avoided. However, if these are too tight, the legs will roll or ride up, and the lines creep back in along with bulges and leg muffins. Add a bold pattern, or a dark color under a light fabric, and you have a disaster. White under white is still visible. People notice. If they notice when the lines aren't there, trust me, they notice when the lines are there too.
So, yes, I was wearing underwear and apparently, I was wearing just the right ones. I guess this girl wasn't privy to Victoria's or Carrie's real secret. Skin colored--or nude-- underwear disappear under clothing. In fact, these are made in all skin shades, cuts, and sizes. I've been a 6 and a 16. I've worn every size. A nude thong is essentially invisible as long as it is, again, the appropriate size. If I wore a size 6 thong under a pair of size 10 slacks, you would know it and so would I. That wouldn't look or feel good for either of us.
Congratulations. You've successfully completed lesson one in foundations education. Questions, anyone? Be careful what you ask; I might just answer you.
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Okay Carrie, I have a question. What do I do with all the skimpy, ill-fitting underwear and thongs I have collected over the years? What is the proper etiquette for sending those into the great unknown? I can't give them away-ew gross, I can't use them as dust rags-how useless..they aren't the type of thing you send to suffering poor nations. I just can't BRING myself to throw them away..they are so pretty!! (and they were so expensive!) Please advise on the protocol for, you know, the ones I never wear for all the reasons you discussed above! They are just piling up year after year, baby after the next. If only I could sew!
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