A recent article in the Telegraph – How the other half lives by Bryony Gordon – has me thinking about my underwear and whether or not it makes me happy. Gordon’s article is about the trouble she often has outfitting her “not insubstantial bosoms” and how she’s sick of everything she already owns. Gordon’s a 32H – that isn’t a problem I have, I can easily buy off the rack (pun intended). But I have noticed that my mood is often affected by my underthings.
When I stand in front of my underwear drawer in the morning, fresh from a shower and usually already behind schedule, I have to ask myself what kind of day it’s going to be before I pick out an appropriate pair of bra and knickers. Am I going to a party tonight? Do I have a date? How likely am I to see someone I have a slight crush on? Am I having drinks with the girls? Am I planning to sit on the sofa that evening, flipping through channels while simultaneously flipping through a magazine? As soon as I’ve answered those questions, there’s a certain formula that applies: sheer and lacy are for nights on the town; colourful and cotton are for evenings in (alone). But my decision is almost always based on social factors.
It’s such a cliche that women who choose fire-engine-red thongs instead of dingy granny underpants feel sexier and more confident. But I happen to think there’s some truth to it. It speaks to intent and can become a self-fulfilling prophecy, and it’s not only underwear that can do the trick. I have a favourite third-date dress – which I sometimes pull out on the second date – that almost always ends up in a pile on the floor.
As someone who sometimes has trouble breaking out the very best – almost always saving the most perfect bite for last, and refusing to wear my beloved pair of caramel-coloured, Paris-bought-but-Spanish-born leather boots outside of the house – I’ve decided to purge my underwear drawer of everything but the things I absolutely love to wear. If it’s truly the little things that make us happy, I’m going to take another look at the littlest things in my wardrobe – whether I’m leaving the house or not.