Note to self: remember that underwear is always important. Dear reader, this note may seem obvious and ridiculous, but it’s a warning I advise you to not to take lightly.
Feeling wild and free is a sensation many long for. However, there is such thing as too much freedom. Reader, I promise that there is a point to this story so just bear with please.
Now, I have no idea if anyone ever feels the same but sometimes I really hate underwear. It’s considered an essential clothing item but really how necessary is the so-called undergarment? It can be seriously annoying. (I know I know … first world struggles.) I hope someone can relate and I’m not on my own here.
Wedgies are my biggest grievance. Available options: yank them out as subtly as possible in front of an unfortunate friend or some large convenient object that shields judgemental eyes? Suffer excruciating discomfort until you next have the chance to dive into a toilet and readjust? Swap to big granny knickers that bunch up under your jeans? Planning wedgie removal shouldn’t have to be a daily task. This issue alone makes me question how necessary the ‘essential’ item is. What do they really offer?
My next moan: sizes. There’s always that one shop you embarrassingly have to shuffle up to the counter in with a size 16 or XL. I’m sorry but there’s no way I have grown the glutes or thighs of Kim Kardashian overnight. Who was this shop made for - toddlers? Children? Snow White’s seven dwarves?
Underwear size should be standardised. It should not be a guessing game.
So these are two of my main pet hates when it comes to underwear (among many others), including material, shape, VPL’s (ask your girlfriend/wife about this one), chafing and price. Seriously, why is a decent pair of the smallest scrap of cloth costing me more than the price of a jumper that’s twenty times the size? And why is it made either from floss or chainmail?
As you can tell, I really found myself questioning the purpose of underwear over this summer. That was until a certain incident convinced me of its worth.
The end of summer came around and I was Cossack-dancing with work friends (as you do) at a village concert. As I had opted for loose fitting trousers I also opted out of pants on this occasion (I hear the judgment. Deal with the fact it happened.) Mid-Cossack I felt a certain ripping sensation. I froze. I stood up slowly. Feeling behind, I sensed with horror the texture of skin, not material. Realising what had happened, beet red and not so beaming, I departed the scene swiftly to avoid further embarrassment. I will not go into full details of this mortifying incident.
Now, retelling this event has not been easy and maybe a bit TMI (Too Much Information). But it did convince me of the importance of underwear in the long run. So a warning to all fellow sceptics of underwear (if you exist), it does serve to provide modesty in unlucky situations.
Since this episode, frustrating though the wedgie is, I suck it up. No matter the cost, I deal with it. Despite the annoyance of searching for flattering sizes in fashionable shops I hunt high and low.
I hold my grudge but have learnt my lesson the hard way.
-- Francesca Darvill is a student at King Edward VI School, Bury St Edmunds