Boxers v. briefs: The great debate

Heather Gordon Ride with Me

There is something that affects your life on a daily basis without your giving it a second thought. But, me, oh, it keeps me up at night. How your ethnicity mediates your relations with others in this society? No. The plight of the royal housepets now that Charles and Di have split for good? Closer, but still no stogie. My mind is on your underwear. So, let us delve into our pants for further investigation, and put this egregious neglect to an end.

I would like to begin our discussion today with a review of men's underpants fashion, as it pertains to boxers versus briefs, the great debate. I have done extensive research, interviewing many men, and have come to the conclusion that their preference is split fairly evenly down the middle: Some go for the support offered by briefs, some the freedom of boxers. But as for the women, the war cry is virtually unanimous: Give us boxers, or give us death! Unless you encounter a chick who had some traumatic experience being flashed by the aged principal of her junior high school, who happened to be wearing jockeys at the time, she is probably going to vote in favor of the shorts because, in general, they are just so much more appealing. I cannot quite put my finger on it as to why, but something about tighty-whities just curdles the stomach, perhaps in that they frequently get mentally associated with men of undesirable ages and statures, i.e. little boys or dad.

Unfortunately, I have met, or rather should I say dated, far too many guys who are resistant to the obvious superiority of boxers. Like this one, we will call him Dork, who thought he would put a spicy spin on the normal briefs action and wear these special tiny, tight, colored speedo-esque jobbies. To this day, I still have nightmares of this pair of aqua ones with the special mesh front for added visual enjoyment. O men of the 'U,' learn from my sad experience and do not buy that leopard-print bikini pack that is calling your name at Hudson's (you are not Joe Montana); and if you do, and this is a promise, you will never get any again.

Boxers should provide you with ample creative outlets, considering their myriad of witty patterns, vibrant colors and soft fabrics, not to mention that silk pair for which you will undoubtedly spring for those Barry White nights. And, if you feel you must have more support, then I highly recommend you go for that new sort of boxer/brief hybrid I have been seeing in the J. Crew catalogues and whatnot. A friend of mine has them and I have heard nothing but wonderful things about such a perfect balance of snugness and freedom that they just make his whole day. And frankly, they are quite sexy, to boot.

And now on to the ladies. In selecting their delicates, I think that most girls have in mind a mix of functionality and appearance. Do they match my bra? Do they show through my pants? Do they look like something my grandma would wear? Like something Tracy Lords would wear? You get the drill.

But me, I have an added problem: I am possessed of the unwavering conviction that at birth, before even leaving the delivery room, the doctors performed a special operation on me to install a small, yet staggeringly powerful vacuum up my ass, as it seems that it is merely a matter of seconds before any pair of underpants I choose to put on finds its way indelibly up there. Yes, I know everyone is prone to a melvin or two in his time, but my friends will back me up when I tell you that I am specially plagued in this department and thus have spent years of my life dedicated to finding the perfect pair of underwear, which will not spend quality hours sucked up my butt.

Sadly, my butt has won. I have given over and waved the white bikinis in surrender, and all underwear to me now is not measured on a matter of cuteness or color, but rather wedge-proneness. Oh, this hot little number is great, but if I wear it with those jeans, I will not even be able to reach them to pull them out.

In a fit of despair, I was discussing this matter with my best friend Andy, who, being the typical guy that he is, suggested that I try a thong, insisting that he has heard nothing but rave reviews from girlfriends - these thongs, they say, change their lives: 'A's on all their papers, job offers when they have not even sent out resumes and it does not hurt that guys dig them hard-core, either.

So I give it a shot, and you know what? They suck. I spent the whole day with the overwhelming urge to grab my ass and pull out something that had nowhere else to go. There was no getting used to them - they hurt and I felt like a sex-maniac freak who was wearing porn-star panties to Angell Hall. So that is that. I am currently taking any suggestions you have to offer: Just look for the girl on the street with her hand in her pants.

- Heather Gordon can be reached over e-mail at yutz@umich.edu.

04-11-97