Underwear - Money Well Spent?

     Although I spent an afternoon merrily engaged in shopping for undergarments recently I still don’t buy these items as regularly as I feel is necessary.  Years can go buy before I give the matter more than a thought or two so such purchases are clearly not of great concern and I can easily view them as a frivolous waste of money.   Back when I first started earning my living there was no doubt that I saw pink and peach nylon panties and petticoats a misuse of hard earned finances – particularly since I was likely to be the only one who saw them.   It was to be some time before anyone else was allowed to catch a glimpse of these most provocative and private garments.    Quite apart from that I definitely felt the expense involved could be more usefully diverted to Marks & Spencer’s orlon twin sets in the same colour range that everyone could view and be impressed by.   If I cut the labels out there were even some who might believe they were cashmere.   I was of course still a teenager and definitely a naïve one.  

 

   All those years ago my buying was still much influenced by my mother who, along with a great many other women of her age and ilk seemed altogether too concerned with what people might Think should I be knocked down by a bus and unacceptable undergarments revealed to the Hospital Emergency Department.  Investing in something attractive she felt was money well spent.  Strangely my grandmother, whose own underwear would have been decidedly basic and well worn, seemed to share that very same anxiety.   This paired neurosis caused me to eye buses suspiciously before crossing close to them but did not prompt any great desire for lace edged petticoats with which to astound and electrify the medical staff at Gravesend & North Kent Hospital in Bath Street.  As my possible injuries were treated there would be no sharp intakes of breath and admiring comments on the delicacy of the trim.   Apart from all that it seemed a little anomalous that all the alarm was concentrated on road traffic accidents concerning females.  Nobody was too bothered about the state of male underwear and potential consternation caused by threadbare and inelegant y-fronts.  

 

   Nevertheless the unease pertaining to the possible horror I might generate in the local hospital should I have an altercation with a bus in a moment of inattention meant I did spend a certain amount of time on Saturday afternoons browsing the undie aisles in both M&S and BHS.   On those rare occasions when I succumbed and made a purchase after an exacting hour considering the charms of all, I would most likely yield to the latter retail organisation.   The choice was primarily made on a cost basis because M&S was substantially more expensive than their local rival as we all knew.    I never resorted to the Market which my mother favoured no matter how low the cost involved and how hard she entreated me to.  The thought of the very direct interaction with the seller, possibly male and prone to bold and brazen comments was quite horrifying to me at the age of sixteen and was to remain so for some time.

 

   The market was the destination of choice for most of our family buying and my mother only ventured further from its charms if a solid search did not reveal what she required.  Again her choice was largely based on cost and back in those days markets were still the cheapest option for most local shopping.  Over the intervening years the position appears to have altered with some markets becoming alarmingly pricey the previous batch of cheerful cheeky traders giving way to more beautiful sales persons wearing hand-made shoes and jackets that have an air of Bond Street about them presumably to be more in keeping with the cost of the goods on sale.

 

  Back in the 1940s and 50s market underwear leaned firmly towards what were then still known to some as vests and bloomers, the latter being high wasted and elasticated at the knee pastel coloured in nylon for summer and flannelette for winter.  My mother and aunts were united in the fact that they found them to be more than serviceable and Aunt Mag said she was proud to hang them on the line each Monday morning.   Only Aunt Freda said she wouldn’t be seen dead in them and like me went for a more modern design but then she was known to be Flighty and, not surprisingly, eventually gave birth to a child out of wedlock which everyone said would happen sooner or later considering the way she Carried On.  As a family we were unified in the fact that we were most unlikely to go anywhere near the underwear departments of what we saw as more exclusive stores such as Nottons (heaven forbid) or Bonmarche and in fact these were places we rarely entered.

 

   I have no idea where the underclothing of my early childhood was purchased but my most unpleasant memories of that worn next to the skin revolve around this time.  It was invariably uncomfortable and constricting and never to be forgotten is the horror of the Liberty Bodice which I was forced to wear until I was about ten, a strange unwieldy garment which always seemed to have a great many small rubber buttons that were impossible to handle - in fact I still wonder what their function was.    Later on the Roll On seen essential for some of my teenage years was somewhat similar – thick and ugly with a mind of its own and serving only to restrict normal body movements.  Back then females were strangely accepting of the fact that it was absolutely necessary to wear what was known as a Foundation Garment, armour-like constructions that had replaced the Stays that my mother and aunts wore and apparently were an improvement in that there was no need to lace them.  Some time later with a shudder of relief most females who hit their mid teens at the same time as me firmly discarded all such monstrosities and opted for the more aesthetically pleasing suspender belt preferably in scarlet or black.  I was warned that these new-fangled belts would do nothing to keep me warm in winter and I was certain to end up with pneumonia but of course I was no better at listening to such advice than my peers.  Meanwhile throughout all these adjustments in style males of a similar age and background remained happily in their y-fronts tattered and shabby though they might be.

 

   When pantihose burst upon the scene in 1959 the suspender belt itself rapidly became outmoded which caused some consternation in those who admitted to finding it the most alluring underwear development of their lifetime.  Those of us whose underwear ideology was always going to be firmly adhered to the twentieth century were anxious to let it go and explore more contemporary developments such as bikini style, hipsters, thongs, boy-shorts and g-strings.  I was one of those keen to go forward to some extent whilst viewing with suspicion items with the term Spanx in their description because of the immediate connotations with the liberty bodice.

 

  Sadly my overall progress was destined always to be much the same as it was during the great leap forward of the 1960s when we were all advised to burn our bras which was all very well if you did not need a bra in the first place.   This of course might be the real reason for an enduring lack of will to spend money on anything that has a hint of Undergarment about it.