That's the breeze of freedom, ladies.
By Katya Grishchenko
So here’s my Victoria’s secret: I don’t wear anything between my crotch and my jeans. That’s right. No underwear — no thongs, no boy shorts, no granny panties, nada.
I often receive questions from the less enlightened elastic-bound set: “Don’t you get urinary tract infections?” or “Don’t you have to wash your pants every day?”
I’ve refused to slip into knickers ever since I first experienced the freedom of life without diapers. I know what I’m doing. Of course I’ve had a UTI before — and you probably have too, if you’ve sat in a wet bikini for an hour — so let’s not point fingers.
And no, I don’t do laundry every day. I just take the pants to the sink, expose the crotch area to the faucet, dab on a few pumps of detergent, and rub a few times. Rinse and repeat. Voila! No one will ever know you grinded on your Sevens.
Besides, ladies only spend money on fancy elastic because they can’t wait for their idiot du jour to catch a glimpse at the string making its way up their backside.
For the sexually confident, going commando is just another way to connect with your body. But if you’re not ready to embrace your own sexuality (or you abuse it by trying to find love from a penis), then fine — stick to big-girl panties and I’ll continue to revel in my commando confidence. But I know who’s having more fun.
Illustration by Monica Palmer