Today, I’m talking ’bout…
And no, not the sandal. I’m talking about that lacy gateway under your pants. G-string. T-back. Butt floss. Hiney-hole-hugger (that one’s not technically real but fairly accurate, no?) Although I am now a proud member of Team Thong, it has taken me awhile to get to this place in my painted-on-jeans career. I can now walk freely in yoga pants without fear of the dreaded panty line. No matter how long it takes me to shimmy into my pants that are, admittedly, not the right size, I do so knowing it will be time well spent because my booty is going to look fresh! Granted, I still have my days where all I can manage are my granny panties, but I truly do see the benefit of rocking the threads that made Sisqo the man he is today.
Growing up, thongs were not something that frequented my laundry basket; in fact, they weren’t technically allowed. I’ll never forget that first miraculous purchase, compliments of the clearance section at Old Navy. My family and I were packing for our summer vacation – cruise to the Caribbean, casual – and I wanted to wear my new white skirt. However, said white skirt was also completely see through, so I told my mom I needed a thong. She laughed and went off on a tangent about “nasty girls” and left me to weep into my Lands End suitcase. I HAD to wear this skirt on vacation; all of the other 9th graders were going to be so jealous! So I did what I thought would be the best course of action – nothing. Not going to lie, my mother can be pretty terrifying. But we did end up going to the mall later that day, which is when I snuck into Old Navy like a total badass and bought my first pair of cotton wonders.
After that, I was hooked! I found myself with a sudden swagger in my step. It was like I had this sexy secret that only I (and my dad, who was in charge of laundry in our house) knew and I wanted to shout from the rooftops “MY BUTTCHEEKS! THEY’RE FREE!” It was a brand new world and I was Ferdinand Freakin’ Magellan, navigating my way through a sea of lacies and side-ties, cheekies and halfbacks. I was thonged, through and through.
I do think that the thong sensation is somewhat generational. To this day my mother refuses to even entertain the fact of wearing one and still takes one of those deep, here we go, I-sometimes-want-to-shake-you breaths whenever I talk about them. My dad has similar feelings about this particular article of clothing, which I’ve come to realize is mostly because he associates them with strippers, and therefore associates his only daughter with strippers (Which makes my pops sound way more pervy than intended. My B, Dad. Mad respect.). He used to think our washing machine was malfunctioning because one of my little black numbers was so small that he thought it unraveled during the spin cycle.
Over my 11 years as a thong wearer, I’ve learned a thing or two along the way. Below are a few of my Do’s and Don’ts to proper thong use:
1. DO strut around in just your thong from time to time, especially if it’s a new one. Those cheeks aren’t going to shake themselves, and they deserve a little “them” time. Celebrate dat ass!
2. DON’T feel obligated to wear a thong every single day. If you genuinely prefer them and not wearing one makes you feel like I feel without bacon (lost, empty, without purpose), then by all means thong on. But if you’re like me, you still need to keep a solid amount of grannies/full bottom girls in your drawer as well. Some days my cellulite enjoys taking center stage and making everyone in the vicinity aware that it is there, so I have to be prepared with full coverage.
3. DO make sure you buy thongs that come in actual sizes. ONE. SIZE. DOES. NOT. FIT. ALL. If the caps lock didn’t give it away, then let me assure you I feel very strongly about this topic. My 2 thongs that are OSFA either look like I have a wingwang (aka third leg, aka penis, aka my favorite male appendage) or one of those freaky little tails that I always check for when I meet someone for the first time. Not a good look.