Thong thang

In praise of bottom floss

by Kris Frieswick

These are dark days for thong wearers. Ever since Monica bared her thonged butt to the Philanderer-in-Chief, thong underwear has gotten a bum rap. Suddenly, thongs are the undies of choice for home-, nay, nation-wreckers, as well as masochists and Victoria's Secret models. Ashamed, thong wearers have been forced to keep their undergarment choices secret for fear of being labeled by judgmental, full-bottom-undie-wearing types.

Well, I'm not a bad girl or a masochist, and I'm sooo not a Victoria's Secret model, but I am a thong wearer, and proud of it. I am not alone. The next time you're downtown -- and without being too obvious, please -- glance at some passing butts. (I'm assuming this is something you wouldn't normally do, but, hey, who knows?) Every time you don't see unsightly panty lines, guess what? You're looking straight at the ass of another thong-wearing sister.

You wouldn't know it to look at us. We aren't particularly racy women. We don't walk with a limp, and we don't correspond to any specific stereotype. What unites us is the knowledge that thongs are, to use a much-maligned New Englandism, wicked excellent. You just can't go wrong with a thong. I have a friend who does laundry if she runs out of thongs, even if there are several full-bottomed cotton panties still left in the underwear drawer. That, friends, is devotion.

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I first acquired my passion for all things thong from a dear thong-wearing friend who extolled the virtues of the item's comfort, its flattering effect on almost any pair of pants, and, lastly, the effect it had on her boyfriend's libido. But, I asked, isn't it like walking around with a permanent wedgie? Well, yes, a little at first, she admitted, but you get used to it.

I didn't think a permanent wedgie sounded like much fun, and I still don't. Doubtful, I avoided thongs for a year after that. Like so many uninformed people, I was put off not only by the wedgie analogy, but by the persistent image of thongs as mere lingerie -- sex clothes to be worn for a few moments to tantalize the object of your desire, then ripped hastily off. Real women don't wear thongs, I thought. Real women wear big underwear, with yards of cotton or polyester that fully cover our bottoms, trimmed with stretchy lace that cuts ever so slightly into the bulge of fat just above the hip, providing further visual confirmation of the extra five to 10 pounds on board. As a real woman, you just get used to it.

It eventually occurred to me that if I had to get used to anything, it might as well be "permanent wedgie" instead of "poorly stuffed sausage casing." So one day I found myself in a Victoria's Secret store. They were having a sale. I sauntered up to the thong table and eyed the mass of silky multicolored slingshots. I pulled out a lovely dark-green thong in my size. Oh, what the hell, I thought. For $5.99, what's the harm?

I came home, closed my bedroom door against the prying eyes of my roommate, and tried on the forbidden article. Damn, it felt great. It felt only a little bit like a wedgie, and in a few minutes I got used to it, as advertised. But the real treat came when I put on my pants. I had absolutely no panty lines at all. Most miraculously, my fat pants, which had made me look portly no matter how much I weighed, now looked pretty damn good. Not only were thongs less expensive than those big ol' undies but, I figured, they might actually save me a great deal of money: now I wouldn't have to jettison a single pair of my fat pants. My God, I thought, what have I been waiting for? The next day, I went out and bought five more.

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The ways in which thongs have changed my life are subtle, but real. And the benefits go far beyond those I've mentioned. You could call me a bit of a thong apostle. In my fervor to spread the word, allow me to demystify the thong by debunking a few commonly held myths.

Thong Myth #1: Thongs are uncomfortable. They are very comfortable unless you buy them too small. All comments about thong comfort are null and void if you buy a pair that is too small. You can actually injure yourself. And make sure you put them on correctly. One friend confessed that she realized halfway through a workday that she had her thong on sideways. I thought this was anatomically impossible, but I respect her willingness to share the experience. I wouldn't classify it as an expected thong hazard, however.

Thong Myth #2: Why bother with underwear at all? What would you rather have against your private parts -- silk, or the scratchy seam of your wool pants?

Thong Myth #3: Thongs automatically make your ass look shapely and sexy. This is a lie. If you had a lousy ass before, you will have a lousy ass in a thong. Thongs are not for public consumption. I don't disagree with laws banning them on public beaches. They aren't like the Miracle Bra, which takes the average and makes it above-average or, in some cases, world-class. Thongs are a private solution to a problem. If you are that lone woman who was fortunate enough to be born without a genetic predisposition to the scourge of cellulite, however, you'll look fabulous in a thong. You should proudly display your thonged butt whenever you get a chance. And, by the way, I hate you.

Thong Myth #4: It is not appropriate to wear a thong under a skirt. When is the last time anyone saw your underwear without a specific invitation? Although the beginning thong-wearer may experience a slightly exposed feeling when wearing a thong with a skirt, repeated wearings will instill a sense of thong confidence. Soon, you too will proudly wear thongs with even your skimpiest skirt.

On that day, when you can fearlessly wear your thong with any clothing item, you will have achieved the Zen of thong. Once deeply instilled, this newfound thong confidence has a way of bleeding over into other parts of your life. Suddenly you feel sexy and fearless. You refuse to accept the insolence of the acne-scarred checkout girl at the grocery store. You boldly redirect unscrupulous cabbies who try to take you home the long way. And when your boss launches into another quarter-end lecture about "pushing the envelope" and "breaking out of the mold" with "next-generation thinking," you can sit back, smile, and think to yourself, Dude. I'm wearing a thong.

Kris Frieswick is a magazine writer living in Newton. She can be reached at krisf1@gte.net.