92. Who Wears Short Pants?

So Times writer Caitlin Moran wrote a very entertaining piece the other day about "pantorexia:" which she terms women's addiction to tiny and impractical underpants. (Imagine this entire post being read in a British accent, that will make the subject sound much less indelicate.)

Moran is a "woman of a certain age" which is the Edwardian way of saying "older than me." I find that despite their arguments in favor of practicality, safety, etc, women like Moran see the whole dental-floss-thong phenomenon as part of the Britnification of pop culture. In other words, as a cultural scourge. Victoria may once have had a secret, but she certainly doesn't anymore.

I've been doing my own laundry since I was 15, but not because I'm all that industrious. I started doing my own laundry around the time I started buying my own underwear, and the two were not unrelated. Even now, if for any reason (packing, unpacking, carrying laundry into the basement) my mother catches sight of some of the things I've bought lately, she makes a funny little face. The other day, when we were discussing how some of my laundry had ended up mixed with hers and my sisters, she deadpanned, "it's not like I'd get confused what belonged to whom. Anything smaller than 4 centimeters is yours."

She's wrong of course - it's more like 8 centimeters.

She cites the same argument as Moran, which is that "tiny knickers" are impractical. But I think it's more than that. In her steadfastly conservative heart (and it is conservative, in spite of all her attempts to appear very liberal) my mother thinks pretty underwear is morally wrong. Or at least, indicates a lax attitude towards morality.

Meanwhile, my philosophy was: take advantage of those golden years when your ass supports itself.

But as time goes by, I've changed my mind. My interest in nice underwear - and in general, in nice clothes - has waned a lot this year. If before I viewed shopping with fanatical, frothing-at-the-wallet enthusiasm, this year I'm a lot more restrained. I walk by stores and don't go in.

And the underwear is the same. Maybe my market is saturated. I have so many damn clothes that I no longer have space or energy to acquire something new. Or maybe it's something else. I wouldn't call it maturity, but maybe it's the passing of a phase.

In high school, I was content with two pairs of shoes, both of them sneakers, which I wore everyday in the belief that should terrorists/lunatics/dogs attack me, I'd better be ready to run. I also owned several skirts so short I can't look at them - much less wear them - ever again. And a whole lot of random T-shirts. One of my best friends once called me "fashion challenged," and she was being kind.

So for me, I figured this whole "buying cute crap" thing was a phase I'd eventually outgrow. I wonder if it's happening. Or maybe I'm just feeling more responsible, since a lingerie habit can leave a girl broke.