iOS app Android app More

Featuring fresh takes and real-time analysis from HuffPost's signature lineup of contributors
Julie Gerstenblatt

GET UPDATES FROM Julie Gerstenblatt
 

Down Under

Posted: 05/10/2012 4:14 pm

Last week, an Australian lingerie company emailed me to suggest that I use my platform as a blogger for the Huffington Post to promote their website. They offered to compensate me for subtly selling their products in my posts, and invited me to contact them for further information.

Needless to say, I did not respond. I have journalistic integrity, for starters. But perhaps more interestingly, these people clearly have no idea what kind of underwear I wear. If they did, I seriously doubt they would be asking for my endorsement.

Now, why would an Australian lingerie company reach out to a woman who wears sweatpants most of the time and writes from a room over her garage? Good question, indeed. My mind puzzled through this conundrum as I got dressed for the day in my comfy cotton bikini briefs and a bra I picked up at a two-for-one sale at Kohl's.

It is true that I have written about fashion -- in the most fleeting sense of the term -- by mentioning my love for scarves (to keep me warm) and flatforms (to make me appear tall). But, if I had to guess, I'd say that it is the article I wrote in January about 50 Shades of Grey that has these Aussies thinking I must be hot stuff. And so, to prove them wrong and simultaneously deter other lingerie companies from pursuing me, I would like to share some never-before published Underwear Tales.

September 11th was a sad and scary day for New Yorkers, Americans and the world at large. I spent the better part of the day teaching my 7th graders in Westchester County, NY about the basic geography of the city -- uptown, downtown, east side, west side -- and trying to calm their fears about the locations of their loved ones.

After school, I couldn't get home to my apartment in Brooklyn, so I called my grandmother in White Plains and arranged to spend the night. I had made contact with my husband, Brett, who worked in the city and was currently walking uptown to my mother's apartment. On the way to my grandmother's, I stopped at the dry cleaners to pick up a dress I knew I could wear to school the next day. I then went to Bloomingdale's to acquire a new pair of undies.

The Bloomingdale's parking lot was a ghost town, not surprisingly. I did a u-turn and peeled out.

"You can wear a pair of my underwear, Sweetheart," my then 87-year-old grandmother suggested, digging through a drawer of large, flesh-colored garments folded neatly between pieces of tissue paper.

And so I did.

On September 12th, I taught middle school English in a pair of ginormous, slippery granny panties.

And I didn't even mind.

Fine, the world was in crisis and underwear was the last thing anyone -- including me -- cared about. But my point is that underwear is something I kind of never care about. Often, when my family and I travel, I forget to pack something. A toothbrush. Deodorant. My entire suitcase. (Only once.) I am in charge of packing for the children and me, while Brett is a type-A organized being who packs for himself and never forgets anything. (I'm not sure why I don't just have him pack for the kids and me, now that I think of it.) Anyway, there have been several times when we've arrived at my mom's home in Connecticut only to find that I have not packed my underwear. On those occasions, I wear my mom's panties. The style is so high-waisted that it sticks out of the top of my DL skinny jeans. But, surprisingly in a good way, I never get a wedgie.

I'm not completely blind to the beauty of lingerie. It's just that I don't like anything lacy because it's itchy. And I don't like any bra that puffs up my boobs too much or one that flattens them into a uniboob. I also don't like silky pajamas because then I slide around weirdly in my sleep. I like the traction that cotton provides.

I save my sexiest underwear -- thongs -- for spin class. I figure it's the only time when some poor soul has to stare at my ass for 45 minutes without having any choice in the matter. For their sake as well as mine, it better look good. Like they say, sometimes you have to put your best butt forward.

Okay, they don't say that. But they should.

You don't see a lot of thong companies advertising their flosswear in Runner's World or Fitness magazine, but I'm thinking there's a niche they could fill quite nicely.

Also, I do have a favorite bra, made by Calvin Klein, but it was recently discontinued. Why would any company name a product "seductive comfort" and then, after seducing you with its comfort, take it off the market? The lingerie world is so harsh.

So, here's the deal, Australian lingerie company: it should be clear at this point in the article that I cannot and will not ever be able to work for you. However, I challenge you to troll the Internet and find my favorite, discontinued bra for me. Because, if you do, then I will actually pay you for your services.

 
 
 

Follow Julie Gerstenblatt on Twitter: www.twitter.com/jgerstenblatt

FOLLOW COMEDY