Columnist
‘Can shapewear be more desirable than a G-string?’
Iwas running up the escalator at Piccadilly Circus when a gust of wind lifted my skirt sky-high. It gave a whole new meaning to Air on the G string. Poor old Bach would have been turning in his grave. Luckily my girlfriend was right behind me.
‘I can’t believe you still wear G-strings,’ she scolded, tugging down my hem. She then advised me quite sternly that it was time for more sturdy nana knickers.
I’ve worn G-strings since the 70s. Yes, that bit of elasticated dental floss sometimes chews at my nether regions until it feels as though I’m flossing my fallopian tubes. But that flash of thong peeking over the top of my jeans as I bend over has always felt sexy and empowering, emblematic of my liberated, independent status – alittle lacy badge of honour.
Well, not any more. G-string sales have plummeted. Apparently the gee is no longer a symbol of sophistication but reminiscent of Baywatch and Pirelli calendars. The thong has had its swansong. It’s a fashion faux pas. But am I really ready for nana knickers? Surely brevity is the soul of lingerie?
With my knickers in a twist over knickers, I dashed to a department store and riffled through the many styles on offer, starting with granny pants. I held up a pair. It looked like the spinnaker of a yacht. I’d be far too embarrassed to hang these cottontail tarpaulins up on the line. I’d be cast off into sexual Siberia. Nuns would start ringing me up for tips on celibacy.
The sales assistant then displayed the rest of her range – Bonds, bikini, boy leg, French silk scanties… Not only had I seen more silk on a worm but how would I launder such pricey delicates? Perhaps edible knickers are the solution, as at least they’d do away with the need for expensive dry-cleaning.
The shop assistant then presented me with an undergarment even more repellent than the nana knicker – shapewear. She insisted I try on this nipple-to-knee elasticated corset. But struggling my way into the skintight pants proved so strenuous I pulled a muscle. I’m amazed extreme sports enthusiasts haven’t taken it up as the ultimate risk-taking thrill. My ovaries were pushed up into my thorax.
Shapewear is clearly the ultimate contraceptive too because once you get it on, you
