When I was in middle school, I used to write down what I wore every single day. Our school gave us “agendas,” where we could write down our homework assignments, doodle during class, and *optionally* document the incredible ensembles we put together from the years 2002-2005 (no one else knew about this option). In my agenda, under my doodle-embellished list of Spanish homework and Social Studies readings, I painstakingly logged every single item that was on my body that day- green Abercrombie camisole, black Soffe sweatpants, and often, “w.t.” or “b.t.” These, of course, denoted my two most important pieces of clothing: “white thong” and “black thong.”
Thongs became incredibly important to me and my colleagues when we were in 7th grade. It is no coincidence that that same year, nothing was cooler than Solow pants- flared spandex pants that I am only now realizing were named because their rise was “So Low.” Clever! But with spandex so tight, regular underwear were no longer an option. I never had a pair of Solows myself- at 12 years old, I thought my thighs were too big to be showcased, which is sort of a whole thought piece for another time- but that didn’t stop me from yearning for the new accessory they demanded. All of my friends were skyrocketing into womanhood- together we had started shaving our legs, tweezing each others’ eyebrows, doing irreparable psychological damage via secret three-way calls- and yet here I was, about to be left behind. I immediately begged my mother to take me to puberty’s pearly gates: the Victoria’s Secret in the next town over.
Now, let’s set the scene: the year was 2003. My parents had just gotten divorced, and my mom was largely operating as a single parent to me (12) and my brother (9) while simultaneously getting her business off the ground. We were settling into our recently-downsized home for just us three, plus our humongous yellow lab, and on top of everything else my mom was suddenly confronted by her pre-pubescent daughter who wanted the kind of underwear that went up the butt. Historically, my mom has tried to say yes to me whenever she was able- in general I was pretty strict with myself and she was happy to try and make the doable things possible for me in this life- so she loaded the car up with me and my little brother and set off for the place where underwear dreams come true.
We all made ourselves at home pretty quickly in Victoria’s Secret: I approached each section like a detective at a crime scene they wished they were a part of, my mom clutched her bag tightly, hoping that this transaction would be swift and painless, and my brother ran around screaming like Donnie from The Wild Thornberrys. My mom honed in on a rare aka simple pair of VS underwear- a white cotton thong with full coverage in the front and the top half of the back, the fabric only cutting away when it was absolutely necessary. “What about this one?” she asked, my brother sprinting from provocative mannequin to provocative mannequin behind her. I swallowed, and mustered up all of my confused courage: “Couldn’t…we choose something…more pretty?” I managed. “Why…would you need something….more pretty?” my mom rumbled through gritted teeth, steam practically coming out of her ears as my brother did cartwheels through the dressing rooms.
The truth was, I had no idea. There was absolutely not a chance in hell that anyone was going to see these underwear, other than the friends I might faux-casually show. I hadn’t had my first kiss yet, or even gotten my first period; I was still far from the throes of puberty but so desperately wanted to dress the part. I had pawed through friends’ older sisters’ copies of Cosmopolitan magazine dozens of times and saw that this next stage of life was filled with matching lingerie sets, straps, and lace. My hair would be bouncing, my boobs would be huge, and I would have laughing pillow fights with my girlfriends every night of my life. And somehow, I imagined, my new thong would be the key to this brightly lit new world. First thong, then kiss, then How To Blow His Mind in 32 Simple Steps. Who “He” was I didn’t know, but I barely knew who I was at that point, so the details would simply have to follow.
Everything was going according to plan and then along came my mother, who also drove me to the store and funded my entire life. From my perspective she was shutting down my path towards “sexual liberation,” which I would have to Ask Jeeves about later, but from hers she was witnessing her firstborn child, and only daughter, teeter into the world of hyper-sexual, impossibly-idealized, overpriced consumerism that specifically targets women. In that moment, I thought she was genuinely asking me why I would want a pretty pair of underwear, but now I can see that she was recognizing my clumsy stumble into a new reality; a stage she couldn’t save me from, especially not with my brother swinging from the sexy chandeliers.
I bought one white thong and one black thong that day, and no one ever saw them. No doors were opened because of them, no one looked at me differently in the halls, they were never even donned with a snug pair of Solows. Yet somehow they became my most prized possessions- a signifier of maturity, a portal into womanhood, a treasure so precious they could only be referred to under the pseudonym of their own initials. I logged their wear meticulously in my agenda, using a code that couldn’t be cracked in the event of robbery and/or betrayal. That information wasn’t for anyone else, it turns out; my thong was just for me.
Troll Goblin Monster
Alison Banowsky is a creative powerhouse and one of my dearest friends- you might remember her from our feature on her Perfect Woman tote bag a few weeks ago! I first saw this short when she was first working on it years ago, and am so excited to share it with you now for SO many reasons detailed below. For more things Alison you can also follow her art account, @blarfnowsky, and I must insist you do.
I've had this piece about 99% completed for maybe 7 years, but for some reason I just could not find it in myself to finish it. All I had to do was get music that I actually had the rights to so I could finally put it out in the world. I wrote and did the artwork in a time that feels very far away from me, and in some ways sharing it now feels a little bit like going back and reading your high school poetry when you're home from college. But my 33-year-old self is practicing being a kind and supportive mother to my 26-year-old self. My dear girl, she worked hard on this! She wanted it to have an audience! She thought you (I) would get around to it much sooner! I'm trying to be better about seeing my projects through and not waiting for things to be perfect to share them. So in that spirit, from my 26 year old heart to yours, I hope you enjoy my little short!
That’s all, my guys! I hope your Sundays are cozy and/or St. Patrick’s Day-y, whatever that means to you personally. I’ll see you here next week :)
xx Olivia