One morning last week, as he was dressing in his walk-in closet (I know, don’t ask), I noticed that an actual black rubber strip was exposed at the waistband of my husband’s favorite red and blue paisley underpants.  His favorite briefs were literally falling apart. This presented, not for the first time, a tricky situation for a long married couple.  Do I mention his secret shoddiness and risk sounding sanctimonious and judgmental? Or do I keep mum and remain offended by his patent disregard for my sensibilities? I decided that I had to say something and tried to make it helpful.

“Darling, would you like me to discard those pairs that are showing a bit of age?

“Absolutely not,” he said. “Who cares? Who sees?”

Well, I do, for one.  I held my tongue until I tasted blood. He was, after all, just being his authentic self and I my critical self.

When is it, exactly, that we get too mature and above it all to care about the state of our unmentionables?

I don’t mean to pick on my spouse in particular here as I climb up on a sort of underwear soapbox, but like many in our age group, there is a tendency to lose focus on this aspect of appearance.  I, for one, have been uneasy for a while now about the current fashion for underwear that shows… above low altitude jeans or through skin tight pencil skirts, or worse, beneath the unfortunate butt cleavage of male or female.  It’s ironic that our generation practically invented bra burning and wearing shredded cutoffs with not much of anything underneath. Where did this sudden prissiness come from… decades’ worth of discomfort perhaps?

So, forgive me if I use this as an opportunity to offer my unsolicited views, a sort of “state of the undies address” for the over 50s.  And please be forewarned that this trivial take on personal development may cause discomfort in those accustomed to more highbrow subject matter.

Why whiter than the driven snow?

It chagrins me to say that while I am not strictly a white underpants kind of person, I certainly go for…no frills, no fuss, full-coverage sort of under garments. I am programmed to seek sturdy, long-lasting, comfortable ones with few embellishments and strong elastic that will hold on through thick and thin. Where did these strong preferences come from if not early indoctrination? Recently, I’ve been considering whether I might not deserve something a little more daring and amusing.

My underwear saga, like many a boomer’s, started with Curity cloth diapers. Not those fancy stitched down tri-folds, but plain bleachable, lint-free rectangles that were laboriously folded into neat stacks and worn with traditional side pins with poofy plastic pants pulled over. On special occasions my mother would add a third layer of bulk with ruffled “fancy pants.” This was in the 1950’s when girl babies and toddlers wore very short hand-smocked, embroidered dresses, lovingly sewn by grandmothers and aunties, and our bubble-shaped, well fed bottoms were meant to show as a pretty display of infant femininity.

In my case, this stage lasted only two short years before the onslaught of younger siblings, again not uncommon in the era when women’s magazines called for patriotic procreation. At age two, it was customary to be fully toilet trained and promoted to Carter’s padded toddler pants (for boys or girls), the same quarter inch thick quilted white cotton but with an armpit level waistband and saggy leg holes. Oh sure, there were still occasions that called for fancy pants; birthday parties, Christmas or when relatives were coming to visit, but I soon got the impression that my plain Carters were plenty good enough for everyday and it was an impression that stood the test of time.

Strictly Sixties and Seventies

By the early 1960’s, I had gained five baby sisters, who never experienced anything on their bottoms other than Vaseline, talc and Curity’s or Carter’s. As we grew, the six of us required a significant number of white underpants. Ours were strictly policed by our mother, who marked pairs for each daughter with a blue, green, pink, yellow, purple or red thread on the stretchy waistband. She was adamant about maintaining laundry efficiency as well as modesty, so there was no room for underwear individuality.

Even as we reached our teens, when we were more than willing to spend our hard earned babysitting money on more appealing apparel, mother claimed the moral high ground and ruled the roost on plain panties. Eventually, she caved and allowed low waist Jockey’s-for-Her in muted pastel colors or with subtle dots or stripes. She was never too enthralled with athletic grays and could see no reason why blacks or reds were ever necessary for well brought up young ladies. (It took me years to figure out their strategic importance.)

Is the world your (underwear) oyster?

Now, of course, we are all free to choose. We can wander through department store lingerie departments and boutiques in search of that ideal combination of practicality with a frisson of femininity or masculine macho. We may leave those tangas, g-strings or low cut bikinis in slinky leopard prints or lipstick red for the young ones. But I, for one, have raised my standards to include a healthy amount of lace, color and a high cut that I’m assured elongates my long legs.  I’ve been known to splurge on Swiss Cotton or elegant seamless microfiber, though I’m grateful not to need much of the sweaty spandex type.

And yes, like Bridget Jones, I consider my options and attitude before I choose the appropriate Lucky Knickers for my day. I’m vigilant about wear and tear and retire and replace worn pairs frequently. Not because I fear I could be in the proverbial car crash and have to reveal my boring back side in an Emergency Room (that pesky inner critic again), but because it’s a personal point of pride and gives me a kind of inner under strength.  It’s not easy to feel sexy when you’re in those years of near invisibility somewhere between fifty and dead. I feel that knowing my panties are the “best they can be” is a sort of foundation for my faltering self-esteem.

Where do you stand on (or in) underwear?

What has it done for you lately? Do you have panty pride? Perhaps you think your days of parading in skimpy skivvies to attract attention are long gone? And your goals are more centered on control and comfort than cutsie and carnal. But isn’t it a good feeling deep in your soul to know that whatever your outward fashion sense, that your knickers kick ass?  Think about it, are you living your best life in dingy drawers?

How to Get Started on Your Own Underwear Reform

1. Empty out your underwear drawer(s) on your bed and start sorting.  Make piles for “day,” “evening,” and “never again”. Bill Clinton famously donated his retired underwear to charity, a step you should avoid with your rejects even if you are desperate for a tax deduction. Fling them in the rubbish with good riddance.
2. Review your wardrobe for the types of waistlines, fabrics and fashions that you favor. Do you like low cut jeans, white clothes, or filmy fabrics? (I thought not). Well, any good lingerie wardrobe needs to include a variety of styles to accommodate the cut of your clothes and your regular activities. Make sure that you are proud of what may be exposed in your Downward Dog!
3. Consider your choices by taking a timeout from tireless task-driven shopping to linger in the lingerie departments of your favorite stores. Don’t reach on autopilot for the same old brand and style that you have worn for decades.  This applies to men as well as women; think outside the boxers for a change that won’t go unnoticed.
4. Focus on fit. My mother always advised buying a size larger than necessary to extend the life of the elastic, which has led to a lifetime of oversized pantaloons for me. Size really does matter. Don’t let those carnival mirrors in airless fitting rooms dampen your spirit of change if your rear view shows much more than a little junk in the trunk.
5. Splurge on a couple of pairs that can bolster your mood on your least favorite days of the week like when you’ve got to go to traffic court or meet with your financial advisor to discuss your failed or flagging retirement planning. Maybe some real silk to slip on or a fantasy of lace and embroidery to soothe your soul. Or, perhaps some spandex to assist a sagging six-pack or a colorful array to start your day.
6. Play with the senses.  Now that you’ve cleared away the tangled mess of never worn, uncomfortable and just plain ugly pairs, give their replacements a special space. Rearrange that top drawer and if you’re really in the mood to push the boat out, buy some of that old fashioned scented lining paper to tingle the olfactories. For guys, that translates to a bar of Old Spice soap shoved in the back by the socks.

Consider it an investment in peace of mind for your behind — an invisible upgrade and mood booster just for you. There are many things in life that we can do next to nothing about – world hunger, climate change, terrorist threats – but underwear is something everyone can change!