Wednesday, November 13, 2013

Nicole Scherzinger, Me and (no) Knickers


What’s that all about, eh? I’ve never been a big fan and, for the last 25 years, haven’t worn any.
I haven’t been trying to make any big feminist statement; I just worked out that, in a lifetime, if you work out how long it takes you to buy it, fit, it, wash it, get it on and off, tell men where the hooks are, unhook yourself when the men are incompetent . . . Honestly, I reckon that in an average lifespan, I could save eight years.
Nicole Scherzinger made the headlines today because she wasn’t wearing any underwear. No one has ever written about my not doing that. Maybe it is because she is more beautiful (can’t see it, myself - JOKE!); maybe it is because she has more to show (honestly, I am gorgeous). Who knows.
But why is the lack of underwear such a big deal?
I have never understood it. I came from a family where my mother would have hired a parachute to stop anyone seeing my ankle on the beach. I was lucky if I made it into the sea before dusk because of the complicated towel arrangement she engineered to prevent anyone seeing my four year old nipples.
One hot summer’s day after school, I was way too hot, so took my dress off and walked home in my petticoat. Cars stalled in horror. At home one evening, I came downstairs in just my vest and no pants when my parents were entertaining my father’s boss for dinner. I was just seven, but I swear that an escape from Alcatraz could not have set off more alarms.
I stopped wearing bras around the age of 20. I read a great deal of material about the zero incidences of breast cancer in countries where they are not worn. Science and medicine are split on the issue, but I stopped using chemical deodorants for the same reasons – I just felt it odd to have anything preventing and/or constricting natural blood flow in incredibly delicate areas. I am not going to play doctor and pretend that I know it if is right or not; it just felt right for me. Research it for yourselves.
I stopped wearing knickers because they are, quite simply, pointless. If you are a man and you need to secure your gear before setting off for work of a morning, fine; but come on, girls, why are you wearing them? If guys like a lacy number on a night out, great (just make sure they foot the bill, for the undies AND the restaurant); but why would you wear them otherwise?
I wash all my clothes after wearing them once, so it’s not as if knickers are protecting me from any lurking horrors in my trousers or tights. I’m not incontinent, so don’t need them as a drainage unit. Seriously, ladies – what is the point of knickers?
I confess to having spent a great number of my rugby watching days getting my kit off for the lads. I am way too old to be doing that now (give or take a pint of Stella or three) but, when I did said kit-getting-off, at least the guys never had to wait long for the show while I struggled with superfluous material (by which time, we would all have sobered up and not fancied each other anyway).
Unless you are a man sporting a picnic hamper. underwear is nothing more than a social nicety or a fashion accessory; but it is utterly superfluous to requirements. 

Especially when it's a drunken bloke trying to get it off you.

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