Last I checked our walk-in wardrobe is adorned with brassieres and underwear. From her expensive Calvin Kleins and Elle McPhersons to the factory outlets’ Sesame Street imports from China, M has converted our wardrobe to a shrine of sexy wear.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d have thought M had sold her soul to the Lingerie Devil and had passed legislation to her imaginary minions to erect a lingerie shrine in honor of all things cotton and underwire.
Lingerie shopping is definitely an experience worth doing over and over again. To women, shopping for lingerie is an excuse to feel good about their bodies. Wearing lingerie is seen as a very symbolic act; you know your woman’s baying for blood and giving you the mating call if she’s slipping into a sexy pair of black panties.
Matching lingerie is also a sign of confidence in a woman. She’s feeling good about herself on this particular day and matching lingerie makes her feel complete.
Lingerie has seen worst days if we think how our forefathers were seduced by waist high granny panties as opposed to the lacy, low-rise thong.
If you’re a man, not only do you get to tag along with your partner and cite ‘spending quality time’ with her, imagining her in the most outrageous color and designs, you’ll also get a fascinating insight into the other facet of lingerie shopping not often publicised.
The Forbidden Zone
Yes, I’m referring to the drones of men who dutifully follow their partners into the Forbidden Zone. These men have every good intention to tell their partners they look beautiful in any dress or outfit their beloved women slip into. Of course, stopping short of telling them how they truly look subjectively, the men find themselves telling a white lie every time they’re posed with the $64,000 question: “Honey do I look fat in this?” (Yes, and I’ll buy a vowel too, if you don’t mind.)
There’re only so many times a man can keep up with this humorous exchange. After the second trip to the female department, a man looks truly lost and defeated.
Count for yourselves and remember those times when you had to tag along with your partner to the female department. Do you remember how bored you look? Is this really how you wish to spend your weekends after working your butt off over the week?
As I waltzed past the maternity lingerie section (where I spied some seriously huge brassieres big enough to cup my buttocks!) and into the intimate section, I noticed how the ranks of men have been cut desperately thin. Looking around, I realised I am no longer in familiar territory. In fact, I’m the only bloke standing around trying to look interested.
Feeling uneasy, I attempted some lame banter with my partner.
“Yes honey, you look good in those pink frilly knickers. But honestly I think you look best with nothing at all.” I quipped. M turned and gave me a ‘try harder’ look.
As I brushed my hands against some truly delectable night wear, I had a sudden urge to persuade M to purchase them. After all, men know what they like and would love to see. Men definitely love the idea that their suggestion is being entertained by the partners too. And when it came to lingerie, it’s a win-win situation for them. I picked out a few pairs and felt really good about myself. Almost floating, I called out to M…
I snapped out of my dream and remembered it’s taboo for men to be seen in the lingerie department, much less get your hands on the lovely, soft fabric. What? Big, strapping football-loving men like us seen in such an effeminate and un-macho light? Get us out of here!
And then I spotted them. All four of them. Like a shining beacon in the stormy night, beckoning me towards the jagged coastline of shipwrecks and broken cliffs.
Misery Finds Company
Four men, each stranded on the shore, huddled together looking extremely miserable. There they sat in a waiting area, hoping to be picked up by ferry or the chopper. They’re smarting from the embarrassment and the humiliation, but still had the arrogant look about them. If I had blown a bugle all five of us would have made a defiant last stand versus the millions of objectified women in Lingerie Land. WE SHALL NOT FALL!!
We sat there, staring into empty space. I’m sure a few of us were entertaining the idea of their partners looking as good as the mannequins that are in rather suggestive poses. I’m also quite sure we caught each other’s attention once every while and gave each other a weak smile. ‘Hehe yeah I’m bored too and I’d rather be in the electronics department. By the way I’m Bob.’
I tried to focus on the piped elevator music that was twittering though Myer, and in an attempt to look like I’m not as bored as I looked, whipped out my mobile and started browsing through my inbox. Yes, I’m a loser. I wasn’t a loser 15 minutes ago. But I am now.
The silence between the men was excruciating. We’ve been emasculated and dutifully transported to an alternate universe where men are seen as lowly peons and spend an unearthly amount of time waiting for be saved. It’s like Guantanamo Bay without the conjugal visits. Absolutely horrifying.
I think it must have been 20 minutes before one of the men’s partners returned to them. You should have seen the look on his face. His demeanor completely changed. A gloomy sulk to a toothy grin. Mr Darlie would have been pleased. As he stood up, he gave the rest of us weary men a nod.
They came, and they went. As time went by, the women returned and picked up their men. Before long, it was just me and another bored man. In an attempt to break the silence and form a wonderful comradeship with this fella, I started entertaining the idea of singing Wilson Phillips’ ‘Hold On’ and parody Harold and Kumar’s trip to White Castle.
Just as I was about to turn to him and asked if liked women with big hair singing 90s pop, M arrived with a bag in tow. ‘Freedom!’ I exclaimed as I broke the silence. The first words I’ve spoken in over 40 minutes.
M had taken advantage of the mid-year sale and purchased many pairs of lingerie. Some were matching, some weren’t. But one thing is clear, the Sesame Street imports have to go.
And go they did.