Slip Ups

Way back in ’09, I wrote about my blasé attitude to panties. Three and a half years later, I stand by my minimalist approach to foundation garments: but with one significant caveat.

Slips – half and full – are the solid foundation on which the greatest of outfits are built.

I’ll admit, slips have a public relations problem. They’re what our nanas wear. They’re made from flesh coloured polyester. They’re perilously close to those awful spencers our parents forced us to wear under school blouses. In short, they’re not what you reach for when you want to feel pulled together, chic, and ready to kick ass and take names like a mo-fo.

But, I’m a style blogger, and therefore sartorially fearless. The above concerns? I laugh in their faces. I wear slips, in all their nana-ish, flesh coloured polyester, under-the-blouse glory. And, at least some days, kicking ass and taking names like a mo-fo is item one on the agenda.

(Other days, I consider it an achievement to not spill toothpaste on my shoes in the morning. But let’s not dwell)

The great thing about slips is that they perform radical wardrobe extensions. For instance, that woollen sweater you bought five years ago, wearing a little thin but oh so soft? A neutral slip, popped underneath, will allow you to wear that old favourite sweater to the office without giving your colleagues more information than they need about your bra. Or, a vintage dress, viscose rayon, with an unfortunate tendency to crotch creep like an overeager lover? A half slip will keep your dress where it’s supposed to be.

These uses are all fine and dandy, but my all time favourite application of a slip (half or full) is to facilitate floaty floral sundress and skirts on windy spring days. To live in the nation’s capital, in springtime, is to risk disgrace every time you step out in a light, full skirt – our breezes are, indeed, fresh. A slip, under your floaty florals, will mean that you can stroll about our blustery city free from fear of flashing unsuspecting passers-by. Should your skirt be blown completely up (this actually, no-joke, happened to me last month outside the Melbourne Building), all that will be revealed is your tasteful, modest slip.

Which comes in doubly-handy if you’ve had one of Those Mornings, and forgotten to put on your panties.

Panty Problems: Just Say No

For such a teeny tiny garment, the humble panty is responsible for a great many of my fashion vexations. It’s like the pea under the mattress in that much loved fairytale, the Princess and the Pea. Hidden from the naked eye, small in size and seemingly harmless, panties nonetheless have a knock on effect on the rest of your outfit, and on the way that you feel. I would go so far as to compare panty problems with other foibles of modern life, such as locking yourself out of the house, leaving your ipod on the bus, or bumping into an ex in your trackies. The impact of a panty problem is implicitly acknowledged in those handed-down womanly phrases – of course you’d be upset if your knickers were in a knot. Likewise, a change of panties can change your outlook on a situation, hence mama-k’s oft-uttered aphorism: ‘put your big girl panties on a deal with it’. An eternal truth if ever there was one.

There are many reasons why the humble panty is so important. For starters, it is the piece of clothing that is – literally – closest to the body, and, to get all fashion-theory on your, blurs the boundary between the body and clothing, between the public and the private, more than anything else that we wear. All clothing blurs these boundaries to some extent, but it’s the proximity of the panty to that last great bodily taboo – the vagina – that locates a particular cultural significance in the panty. Our culture is fascinated by panties – even those asexual butt condoms in Bridget Jones’s Diary goad Daniel Cleaver’s desire. Ever wondered why an inept bloke, when getting a little bit ‘textual’ with you, never asks about your socks or your scarf? It’s because, due to their physical proximity to a taboo area, panties are loaded with social and sexual significance. Who knew a little scrap of poly-cotton could say so much?

On a less theoretical note, panties are the ‘foundation’ upon which the rest of an outfit is constructed. Anyone who wears jersey – and you all should, it’s a much maligned fabric – will know this. Panties that cut into your rear, ride up or down, have a texture that shows through the fabric of your outer garments, and are too dark or light, are the downfall of many otherwise excellent outfits. Even the much touted solutions to these underwear problems – the thong and the support knickers – have their own issues. Thongs are just as bad, in fact worse, than the garden variety bikini brief in terms of cutting into the fat that most healthy women have deposited around the hip area, and make even the most pert of bottoms look as though they’re meeeeeeelting down your thighs.

Briefly, I thought that support knickers would solve all of my underwear problems. They were smooth and seamless, and gave an extra couple of inches of lift in the cheek area which looked very well under a slinky dress…until I caught a glimpse of what was going on above and below the elastic line of the knickers. The beguiling thing about the support panty is the promise that it can vanish a portion of your flesh. NOT TRUE. It just moves it elsewhere. Like burying toxic waste underground, you’re just redispersing the problem, rather than vanishing it. In the case of support knickers, attractive and proportional flesh is redispersed into a spare tire around your waist where the top of the support panty ends, and two matching mini tyres around your thighs where the support panty begins. About as sex-ay as…well, that particular spelling of sexy.

At my wit’s end one day, having gone through my entire panty drawer trying to find something that wouldn’t pull, pucker, roll or otherwise interfere with my fablousness, I did a very brave thing. I abandoned the quest for the holy grail and went without panties. It felt a little strange at first, I will admit. But by the end of the day I was sold on the no-panty concept. I felt free, easy, and more than a wee bit breezy. There was no going back.

Initially, I thought I was alone in this deviant panty-ditching. I kept it on the hush, commiserating with other girlfriends over their panty problems even though I’d secretly found the ultimate solution. Until one lunchtime, over ham and cheese croissants with my lovelies Kitty Gillfeather and Clementine Kemp, I blurted out the truth:

That I wasn’t wearing panties. And hadn’t been for some time.

Clementine was aghast – but, to my great surprise, Kitty announced that she wasn’t wearing any either. After much giggling and strange looks from neighbouring tables, it turned out that Kitty and I had arrived at a similar conclusion – panty problems far outweighed panty benefits, and thus the panty concept should be ditched. Problem Panties: Just Say No was the slogan we adopted. Numerous other discussions with gal pals resulted in a wider-than-expected array of panty problems and panty solutions. Some went with the no-panty option only if they were wearing pantyhose. Others resorted to a nude coloured spandex slip to resolve the problem of bulges created by the favoured cotton bikini brief. More, still, were scandalised, and slightly intrigued, by the fact that you could actually do away with the panties and their associated problems, and the world wouldn’t end.

Of course, I am loathe to hand down any sartorial dictates on this page. If you want to wear panties, thongs, support briefs or good ol’ fashioned bloomers, then I will support your right to wear whatever you want, sister. I just think it’s worth mentioning the possibility of going free range. After all, if feminism is about ‘choice’ in this day and age, it can’t hurt to add free-and-breezy to the bikini, thong, or French knicker option, can it?

I will add one caveat to this post, however. There are times and places where panties have literally saved my ass – pardon the pun – and caused me, the most impassioned advocate of the free-and-breezy, to acknowledge that there is a season for all things, including panties. To put it more succinctly: when you’ve stood waiting to cross a busy road in Fyshwick on a breezy summer’s day, and your charming floaty skirt has been blown over your head in a particularly strong gust of wind, you will truly come to know the value of that little scarp of poly cotton. As will passing motorists. Arguably….