Bridget Jones pants may be back, but my knickers will always be frilly, not frumpy
Big pants are back in, ladies, and I haven’t felt so betrayed since the fashion police banned leggings on the over-40s.
John Lewis, that never knowingly undersold bellwether of middle-class mores, has reported that sales of tiny thongs are on the slide (easy, tiger…) and great big Bridget Jones undies are on the increase.
Really? Whyohwhyohwhy? I know that economists claim that hemlines rise and drop to reflect economic boom (perky Sixties minis) and bust (droopy cheesecloth Seventies).
So, if skirt length theory is a predictor of the stock market, what have they got to say about the nefarious expansion of the nation’s knickerage?
If you don’t want to know the result, or can’t handle the truth, look away now. I don’t do big pants. Ever. There are a Brazilian reasons – silky lace, bright colour pops and aesthetic appeal – but most of them are to do with just pleasing myself.
I did venture once into “flesh-toned” pants, from John Lewis, as it happens. A girlfriend kept telling me how comfy they were, so I invested in a couple of pairs, but my family caught sight of me scampering about upstairs and the verdict was not favourable.
“Oh dear, is Mummy going into hospital?” the youngest inquired querulously.
“OMG no. No. No. No,” was the teenager’s response.
Even my husband, who hasn’t really noticed anything since the Fall of Constantinople, was moved to echo the little one and ask if I were planning to convalesce in a nuns’ home after my surgery? I pleaded temporary insanity, and we spoke no more of it.
But, of course, the burning question is this: were the big knickers comfier? I can’t give a straightforward answer. Physically, yes – because they were all soft and clingy. Psychologically, no – because they felt too frumpish and dowdy.
I’m sure there are women out there who look and feel fabulous in acre-wide underwear. They are perhaps embracing it because in these interesting times, it is better not to get one’s knickers in a twist. (Me, I don’t mind a judicious ruffle or a frou-frou bow.)
Sensible big pants may provide secure ground cover, but lacy confections distract from imperfections. And they make me smile. Some women like to keep their nether regions toasty. Me, I’d rather warm the cockles of my heart.