I love my underwear

Women get enough pressure for how they look on the outside – leave our undergarments alone.

By CARRIE CARIELLO

I’ve been wearing the same underwear for six years.

Not the same pair, mind you. I have a few well-worn versions of the style I love; big, baggy, ratty underwear that fit in all the right places and make me feel like a million dollars.

These Hanes Her Ways have seen me through five pregnancies and recoveries, countless wedding anniversaries and many a bloated day. Once a festive pink, they’ve now faded to a bleary gray and the waistband is quite tired.

On a recent shopping outing, my sister glanced down in the changing room and shook her head in disbelief. “Have you been wearing that same underwear all this time?” she asked in horror.

My husband was folding laundry and held up a particularly tattered pair for display. He pleadingly beseeched me: “Do you think it’s time we retired these?” I snatched them from his outstretched hand and screeched, “Those are my best pair!”

Changing in the locker room at the gym gives me great anxiety. Although shy about putting this body on display, I’m much more self-conscious that someone will spot my droopy drawers and question if I’ve ever passed a Victoria’s Secret in my travels at the mall.

You might be questioning the point of this discussion. “Just race out to the store and buy some new duds!” you might think. All the major stores carry them.

The truth is I don’t want to.

While fairly meticulous when it comes to my outward appearance, and known for spending ghastly amounts of money on the right cardigan or well-fitting jeans, I’m reluctant to invest in underwear.

Sure, my husband would appreciate it, and I could benefit from the latest in slimming technology and seamless microfiber, but why fix what isn’t broken? What I’m wearing now does the job and does it quite comfortably.

And in the world of thongs, hipsters, boy shorts, high-cut briefs, bikinis, low-riders and even boxers for women, I’m frankly overwhelmed.

Where does our maintenance end? Women are expected to tweeze, wax, prevent split-ends, exfoliate regularly and keep our toes looking cute.

On top of these regimens there’s endless pressure to know if skinny jeans are in (they’re not, at least not for this girl), have the “little black dress” dry-cleaned and at the ready, and figure out why scarves are suddenly so popular in the summer.

Not to mention squeezing ourselves into control- top pantyhose so we can look slimmer and trotting about town in ridiculous stilettos so we can look taller. Can we at least get a free pass for what we wear under our clothes?

I am taking a stand. I will continue to make myself presentable outwardly to the world at large, but I am secretly clinging to my faded undergarments.

Are there others who are wearing relics of years past on their posteriors as well? If yes, let us grasp our threadbare garments firmly in hand and raise our fists in solidarity.

Carrie Cariello lives in Bedford. This is her first piece for the NH Mirror.