2004-09-14

new manties

Once the package was opened, they looked too big. But when there are only four size options (S, M, L, XL) you go with what you know. M is the letter on all other pairs in the drawers, so why, or how different would these be?

In the past year, there has been a surge of underwear buying. Need is typically the motivation for any purchase, followed closely by cost (better yet, low cost). Does one need more than 20 pairs of shorts? The obvious answer is, simply, yes, if one doesn't do laundry that often. But once one has reached his briefs critical mass, why would one buy more?

Tourism. Underwear has become a new form of memento or souvenir. H&M visits at the NYC Marathon produced grown-up versions of Underoos. London in February brought another crop. A return to Australia rekindled a deep love for Bond's square-cut hipster trunks and slinky low-rise knickers. Fashion had invaded the top drawer, but was starting to get out of control.

The tight, sassy bum covers felt very different from the usual boxers of the college years. Even the boxer brief revolution ushered in by Marky Mark had be overturned by the boyfriend's penchant for closer-fitting trunks. A departure from the American standard of white purity, these colorful Euro-chic had none of the bikini cut(s) of their heritage, nor the revealing nature of those esteemed by modern gay culture. The clothes make the man, and this man was trying to be unique in his own self-defined aesthetic. Even if it made for a more humid crotch. The free-spirited comfort of diaphanous shorts abandoned for clingy, albeit cute, confines of the evolution of taste.

Editing the drawer to make room for the new meant saying farewell to the hole-y, tried and true servants. One pair remained, even though it was a loner, originally purchased by a friend years ago who had since moved across the country. FTL across the waistband spoke of its quotidien origins, a caste below the trendy and foreign brands. But it served well. Time-worn black cotton boxer brief, more humble than showy. Basic, without stripes or nostalgic detail of comic book character lingerie. It was usually one of the last pairs worn, a harbinger of laundry day.

There was no pressing need for more, although there was trouble in the ranks. A growing dissatisfaction of the visually-pleasing, scrotum-mummifying trendsetting clones. Especially among five or six Jockey trunks, purchased on sale, promising a more comfortable cloth which had recently turned very pilled. A recognition that what may work for one boyfriend (who held his genetic cards/glands closer to his body) may not be right for the other (lower-hanger, not better just different).

The economy of savings dictated that no more than $10 be spent per pair. Anything more was immediately rejected, with the exception of an iron-on Superman crotch decal in Melbourne. But the higher price of fashion-undies had hypnotized the mind to exclude anything under the $5 mark.

Lo and behold, dangling on the clearance rack at Target was a package of L cousins to the lone loaned pair. Scales fell from away eyes, a new vision was born. Comfortable over classy. Accept what feels good. Thus was inspired the purchase of six more FTL brethren: a multi-pack of four and two closeouts, kidnapped from their packaging now hanging alone.

The four white, the one gray and the twin to older black pair were washed and air-dryed this weekend. Still, they look a little large, fuller in the seat than the mini-skirt length of the more expensive top-drawer residents. Time should shrink the cotton, but they have already proved themselves. Yesterday the gray pair were sported, and today the black. Unlike 1991, the sum total of these six still cost less than my first Calvins boxer briefs.

Which were also a size M.

earlier - later