Underneath it all

Well, is January 18th.


What the what.

It’s January 18th and I am here to talk about underwear.

Yes, underwear.


The whites.



(I actually shudder at the word “panty.” Whoever coined that term should have been exiled immediately and fined all of their underwear, sentenced to roam the netherworlds (hehe) forevermore without the comfort of a protective layer of cloth to separate their genitals from their clothing.)

Just imagine the chaffing!


Back to the task at hand.

As a young, nubile woman I find the whole “underwear/lingerie” thing absolutely confounding.

Now don’t get me wrong here – I find nothing wrong with the concept of a beautiful undergarment, nor do I begrudge absolutely anyone who chooses to spend their hard-earned cash dollars on fancy, frilly brassieres and garter belts (or the what-have-you.)

It’s just for me – I cannot even.

I’ve believe you me, I’ve tried.

This past Christmas, I walked head-on into the new Victoria’s Secret megastore (the twinkling, garish purple and pink disco – cum – bordello that now takes up real estate on Robson and Granville) with the express intention of purchasing some new duds.

The problem being that I lasted approximately thirty seconds inside of the store.

I just couldn’t handle it all – the entire building seemed to be grotesquely pulsating: the too-loud pop “music” remixes blaring from every speaker; the raucous crowds of women careening about the “2 for 40” bins; the scattered detritus of disinterested boyfriends and husbands glued to their smartphones or desperately looking for a quiet corner in which to sit; the too-interested boyfriends and husbands, hovering about the change rooms with “their choice” bras clenched tightly in their fists –


(Also, I’ve got to say – having some non-descript teenage boy wail on about how much he will love me no matter what while I peruse racks and racks of padded bras is a very strange experience indeed. I would recommended all lingerie stores employ string quartets to entertain their patrons whilst they shop.)

But I also have the tendencies and tastes of an eighty-year old, so they should also take my suggestions with a grain of salt.

Or Werther’s Original.

Okay, once again I am all over the road here.

What I’m trying to say is: underwear, for me, serves a function, and as long as that function is served, I am happy.

There are too many things I would rather do with my money then spend gobs of it on fancy-schmancy undies.

Because at the root of it all – I feel totally hot, (and awesome! and strong! and gorgeous!) without them.

I know I look great in my fruit of the loom, unpadded, unadorned plain underwear.

Also – if you’re using that stuff to present yourself as a sexy minx/naughty schoolgirl/lion tamer/etc. – all of that stuff just comes off anyway, doesn’t it?

(Doesn’t it?)

The dollar to time spent wearing the garment ratio is totally off!

Now, I’m sure there are many people out there who would (and probably will) tell me that if I ever gave lingerie its fair shake, I would feel completely different (and yes, I concede that they are probably correct).

But until that day – until I properly gird my loins (harhar) and make it into a store unaffected by all the glittery pomp and sexy circumstance, I will continue on as I do.

Wearing my whites.

Polar Bear Swim
Polar Bear Swim – 2014. In the whites.


Published by

Vanessa Woznow

Writer, runner, ranter, reader. I write about all things.

20 thoughts on “Underneath it all”

  1. Yeah I can’t go into those stores either, it is way too claustrophic(sp, pretty sure I spelled it right but it is saying I didn’t). I don’t care to spend money on fancy-shmancy stuff. But I get why people do like the fancy stuff.

  2. It’s nice to hear a woman say that she feels totally hot instead of unnecessarily beating herself up. My wife is also an eschewer of frilly undergarments. She wears her plain Jane underwear and 15 year old “got 7-up yours” tshirt quite proudly. She looks great in it to me. You look great as well. I assume you’re still running?

    1. Thanks Don! It feels to great to feel this way too! (Took me a long time to get here, so I’m going to sing it from the rooftops and convert as many ladies as I can!) Love that your wife is on the same track. :)

      And thanks! Still running like a madwoman, and training for Tough Mudder this summer!

  3. i KNOW i would be MMM bare-assed ( “our” polar-bear-ness is (i wuzz gonna say “rougher” than “yours”, but (what’s with all theeezz parenthesseeeez?) our local PBPlunges no doubt result in resultant daze sick from werk). our son participates in one in Steamboat, and it ain’t a real plunge unless the temp is below 10 (f), and they really exult if temp is negative!

    1. why can’t we edit our own posts and comments? what i think i originally commented was all garbled up, above. i meant to say YES i am MMM bare assed (and NOT naked rear) to go into such a store, and B pretty much feels the same way, even tho’ our local VS is not the Mega-monster you mention. B sorta dislikes/disdains VS but can’t help herself, sometimes.

  4. We call them polar bear plunges in Illinois. Cheers to you! I haven’t plunged in a few years. I have some bachelorette parties to attend this year; let’s brainstorm gifts as a way to support this post!

    1. Dear Ms. Laura Beth. I am feel like I have been going through the emotional wringer of late (all good things – I just feel too much!) and I keep thinking back to that amazing lunch hour we spent together and wishing that we lived in the same city! You are such an inspiration to me and unbridled source of positive energy.

      ALSO! I may be coming to Chicago in June? I am going to write you a note letting you know all the deets. Let’s totally brainstorm gifts! Are there any themes?

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