I have been neglecting my poor old blog of late, as I’ve worked on white noise and learned some things about my own white privileged attitudes and behaviours. Mostly I’ve been learning how much of a clue I haven’t got. Ho-hum. Meanwhile, I’ve been trying to finish East of Eden so I can get on with reading something more enlightening, and the search for Pink Rabbit goes on… you wouldn’t believe how much money he is making by selling himself on Ebay.

And in the midst of all this, what I want to write about is knickers.

The other day I was walking past Debenhams in Gloucester and I was just struck by the lingerie displayed in the windows on mannequins. Honestly, I wish I’d had a camera. It just struck me how flimsy and hateful these items of “clothing” really are. I’m not just talking about those stupid strings at the back that cut your bum in half, I’m talking about the fronts, I’m talking about the bottoms.

I don’t know about your body, but for me the area of flesh that a pair of comfortable knickers needs to cover is a pretty fair size. I want a gusset that covers my entire vulva, and then I want the fabric at the front to cover all my hairy bits and leave a wide enough band of fabric for the sides to be comfortable against my hips and for the back to keep itself well out of my bumcrack.

Do these knickers look comfy to you?

The gusset can’t possible cover a vulva fully. Just by looking at it I can feel labial irritation. And the sides are so stringy that they would either fall off you or cut into you. But the front? How can a woman wear this without removing her pubic hair? Is she to have fuzzy bits exposed all around? Somehow I think not, since that furry image is in no way compatible with the sleekness that these lingerie makers are trying to sell. There is a reason why all lingerie models are completely hairless down there.

How about these knickers? Look comfy to you? Those strings again, and this time the front is actually transparent. Nowhere for your ugly pubes to hide. Wax or be damned.

I mean, seriously, when we have to buy knickers like this to please our husbands or boyfriends* – how can we retain our dignity? How can we avoid the conclusion that that hair down there has got to go. Or at least, that it has got to be tamed, trimmed, perhaps delicately sculpted into a heart shape and pinked with Betty dye?

[*I don’t do that stuff any more, and as long as I remain free I will never go back to it – but there was a time, young’uns, when I too believed that “sexy” (as defined) was the thing to be. Thank you feminism.]

And I mean, seriously, when we wear these string-gusseted torture devices, and it irritates our labia – how can we avoid (if feminism hasn’t taught us better) wondering whether our protruding labia are the problem? If we can’t even wear comfortable knickers, then how can we sensibly resist the cosmetic surgeons who promise that they can correct the “problems of discomfort” that stem from our “enlarged labia”*?

[*Yes, they do – see here and here – what contempt for woman they have.]

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