I decided almost unconsciously that after watching SNL’s parody of Justin Bieber’s Calvin Klein underwear ad a couple of weeks ago, along with multiple ads on YouTube from the actual company itself I should finally have the right to say “My Calvins” to anyone and everyone in the unlikely case that they should ask to borrow my underwear.
I am currently engaged in a very normal Saturday morning routine. Cup of coffee and muesli settled down on my overpiled and extremely messy bedside table. Multiple notebooks opened at various pages specifically bookmarked with notes spread out before me. Laptop opened and the screen split into half – with the television series I am currently watching along with the photos I am editing on the other window. Propped up against my bed’s bedpost, no bra and all bed sheets, feeling the muscle aches all over my body courtesy of my last gym session. Ultimate everyday goals during this time where Summer School and other academic duties take over.
But today was different, I decided almost unconsciously that after watching SNL’s parody of Justin Bieber’s Calvin Klein underwear ad a couple of weeks ago, along with multiple ads on YouTube from the actual company itself I should finally have the right to say “My Calvins” to anyone and everyone in the unlikely case that they should ask to borrow my underwear.
I briefly remember my first high school. The other, all girls high school with the apeshit principal and nuns of varying temperament* where a mate of mine proudly proclaimed that she was wearing Calvin Klein boxers. It was a trend in the seventh grade to replace our then grandma knickers that our mothers bought for us with male boxer shorts. Ranging from the aesthetic influences of Spongebob Squarepants to the said Klein hubbub, my girl friends who lived in a mixed gender education environment all their life took to that trend like a duck in water when I told them of this wondrous experience later on as a senior. And why shouldn’t they? Male boxer shorts have alway traditionally offered that breathing space female underwear hardly did. At the age of fourteen I was already balking at the idea of wearing anything but boxers. Living in an environment where your school skirt had to be touching the knee with extremely restrictive legroom that no one can humanely move about in, along with a requirement to wear school approved shorts underneath that is more suitable for cooler climates when you were established in a tropical climate? Preposterous. We found ways to rebel against the system.
These days however – in the process of being old enough to shop for your own intimates – the internet offers better options to hide discerning panty lines for my undergarment vocabulary. I don’t really know what’s it like for the rest of the population of the world, but I’m more of a butt person. I zero into them when I first get a good look of people like a bee to honey. When I do get out and socialize of course. Maybe that explains my obsession with seamless drawers that both boxers offer to a certain degree and thongs if you can live with it.
Coming back to the present, I find myself asking this questions. Why did I want those Calvins to be mine in the first place? I posed that same question to my better half. He shrugged and suggested intense marketing campaigns, dudes with washboard abs and girls flouncing around in their underwear doing normal day stuff (like playing the drums attractively and combing their hair with more sex appeal I can generate my entire life. Running too). And probably David Beckham who tops the icing on the CK cake which he has self-proclaimed on many occasions that he would so pork despite being a metrosexual individual. Did we mention washboard abs?
I would have loved a reason along the lines of quality. Appreciating the finer things in life, a good derrière that accounts for a strong underwear game is top of my list. I don’t know why but it makes me want to walk around with my boyfriend jeans unbuttoned or slung low on my hips like it was socially acceptable to show off your underwear for a female among your friends. Just to show off the waistband. And dismiss the notion that I only bought knickers because a celebrity endorsed them. Because they were pretty comfortable.
I think sitting on a very soft unicorn that farts glitter and snow is the best description I cold come up with.
Brb while I go flash my
knickers waistband at someone. And spell “Klein” right the first time around.