The Barrier Between Worlds

I've had a bit of a checkered past when it comes to underpants.
[I was going to say 'spotty past', but, well, I changed it.]

In a broad sense, I think it's fair to say that most dudes fail to put the proper amount of thought into their underpants. I know that I kept them filed under the heading of "Things that Mother Delivers" for way to long, and after that moved them straight over to "Surely I'll Sort This out Shortly After the Apocalypse".

Girls, I find, give proper thought to undergarments. Maybe it's because they wear twice as many items on the average day, so they demand more brain space. There's also the cultural fixation on women in their underpants. Lingerie is a big deal but is squarely in the "for ladies only" camp. Attempts to dress up the male underpant generally leads to some kind of G-String junk-hugging monstrosity - like a muzzled Pelican. Is there a market for that? I'll admit that I've danced in my underpants, but all I've been trying to elicit was a smirk.

Like many unfortunate young men I spent quite a few years rockin' the silk boxer shorts. The advantage in that was that silk boxers are a pretty easy birthday gift for a dude, allowing you the keep replenishing your supply with a minimum of thought. The downside of having a layer of silk between yourself and the world is pretty obvious when you're hitting puberty on the school bus.

But eventually I realised - with some gentle convincing - that pictures of Marvin the Martian and the phrase "Hot Stuff" no longer needed to be branded on my fanny, and I made the move over to basic cotton. It was a similar experience to buying my first pair of jeans that actually fit. I felt like I was wrapped in cling wrap for a few weeks, but was ultimately happy to have made the transition. Also, cotton is much less likely to smell like Satan. I assume.

I don't know how many times I have to do an entire load of washing for want of a fresh pair of briefs. I just can't bring myself to buy any more. I would buy, like, 14 pairs, but then I know my only encouragement to wash would be erased.

The situation is worsened as my affection for a pair of underpants is linked to its state of disrepair.
Leen bought me a pristine pair of Calvin Klein briefs which I wore a lot because they were a great gift and the novelty of such an important junk smuggler was irresistible. Eventually, they had accidentally been turned a faint pinkish colour and the cotton had ripped away from the elastic at the back. I could not wear them with low-hanging pants as it looked like I was wearing an elastic belt under my clothes. But I loved them and wore them until they were wearable only in my own mind.

Currently my favourite underpants are a pair of Bonds boxer briefy things that are held together only by good intentions. The, uh, undercarriage has ripped its way into oblivion, giving it the form of a ragged miniskirt. I love 'em because they continue to serve their function - keeping my equipment away from my pants - but they also allow for a lot of movement. They're like a stylish, open-plan apartment.