The Weekly Ringer

The University of Mary Washington Student Newspaper


3 min read

By KJ Adler

It’s not what’s on the outside that matters but on the inside.
What a load of bull. Of course the outside matters.
We, along with every other creature out there, are judgmental. Birds show off plumage, gorillas puff out their chests and we humans wear nice clothes and gussy up.
We will always have a skewed notion of who a person can be based on their appearance. Popped collars, tie-dyed shirts, Doc Martens, white pants; they all have a connotation with a certain character identity.
So once the initial opinion on someone’s appearance has been made, there is little else to do but interact with the person and see if any further steps should be taken.
If it does happen to lead to sexual relations, then comes the moment where the shells have been shed, the breathing is heavy and all that stands between you and those forbidden little areas between the legs is a piece of cloth many people apparently spend hours choosing.
This is where it all gets fuzzy for me.
Being a cotton panties and comfy bra kind of girl my whole life, I don’t understand where the obsession with having cute underwear to compliment the outfit comes from.
When the moment of revealing the under garments approaches, what’s the point of having them be cute when all you want is to take them off?
I remember my first lingerie shopping experience. It was with my sexually active best friend. We were going birthday shopping for her then boyfriend.
The gift? Sex and a sandwich.
We must have gone through dozens of kinky little outfits, some of which I couldn’t believe would fit under a normal pair of clothes.
Bows, lace, and mesh were carefully sewn together to create a sexually stimulating pieces that she would probably wear only once in front of her boyfriend. And each of these pieces was no less than thirty dollars.
At the time, I was still unfamiliar with sex, so I admit there were a number of factors that eluded me.
For instance, I didn’t understand then that most people, when they choose to wear lingerie for a sexual encounter, change between the front door and the sheets.
Today, being a little more invested in the topic, the lingerie option is still unappealing to me.
Why should I pay a bunch of money for a tiny piece of cloth in order to get a guy all excited for me when he’s already got me in my skivvies?
Obviously we both know what the outcome will be. Why do I need to be redundant with see through underwear with a stupid bow in the front and sequins on the sides?
While with long-term relationships I can understand how intricate panties can be a great way to spice up the sex life, for those of my friends who wear the hot pants on the way to the club I am flabbergasted.
Most instances, the top layer doesn’t even come off. But should a friend get lucky, does the guy, in a fit of passion, revealing her piece by piece, stop mid-action and think “Wow! Those are some really nice panties. Let me take a moment and appreciate all of the consideration she has placed in my enjoyment by wearing these uncomfortable but aesthetically pleasing undergarments.”
And worst of all, why is it that guys are able to elude this fad?
Boxers or Briefs and that’s about it unless you want to get into some really kinky shit. How come we girls don’t have the honor of appreciating a guy’s perfect-fit boxers with sequins and bows?
Because it would freak us females out, that’s why. We would think “Damn, there’s something screwy about this guy but I’m already stripped down. What do I do?!?!”
For me, underwear is just underwear. It’s there to keep the bits in line and while I am not quite at the point of complete rebellion I have steered clear of the lingerie fascination.
They provide little else than self-propelled self-confidence in knowing that you are wearing an attractive piece of cloth. I really don’t want my underwear to determine my state of mind.
So I say you want me? Come and get me.
You want frilly panties? Go to the mall.