Ridiculous in the City

*Think Fiorello LaGuardia had nothing to do with thongs? Think again.*

There are two things I love in the world, my mom and the thong underwear that saves me from ever having to worry about unsightly visible panty line—that’s “VPL” in industry speak. Getting my mom to love thongs, however, is never going to happen.

Since the days when I began empowering myself to truly be panty line free, a line in the sand has been drawn. I’m on one side, comfortably wearing whatever bottoms I choose, liberated by my no-nonsense underwear choice, and my mom is on the other, where the wise realism with which she and millions of other women view the world has her saying simply, “Honey, that’s like walking around with a string up your butt.”

Why are thongs such a hard sell to the otherwise trailblazing baby boomer generation (a generation I respect too much to categorically refer to as “generation panty line,” but it’s a slippery slope)? Thong underwear is an item that allows freedom and liberation—though not the same total liberation that comes from going sans underwear—and isn’t that what these flower children were all about?

The word thong is derived from the Old English thwong, meaning leather cord. Wikipedia defines the thong as, “a garment generally worn as either underwear or as a swimsuit in some countries. It may also be worn for traditional ceremonies or competitions such as sumo wrestling.” Because when I think thong, I think sumo. Historically, the thong has its origins in the loincloths of our ancestors, allowing them maximum movement and flexibility as they stalked large animals and went about the business of hunter gathering. Didn’t you just always know you were descended from practical style savants? Over time, the loincloth was adapted and derivatives such as the Japanese fundoshi, a traditional male undergarment, became commonplace. In the late 1800s, the jockstrap—thong family tree member and beloved accessory to generations of athletes—hit the scene and soon thereafter, the g-string (in a literal turn the “g” is believed to stand for groin) entered our collective consciousness, gaining popularity with burlesque performers and strippers in the 1920s and 1930s.

The first reference to what we know today as a thong appears to have actually come from NYC’s own Mayor Fiorello LaGuardia (was there nothing this man couldn’t do?), who wasn’t thrilled with the amount of skin the city’s nude dancers were displaying and had them cover up prior to the 1939 World’s Fair. Modern thong style evolved from bikini bottom designs in the 1960s, like that of designer Rudi Gernreich—a man who would also invent the “pubikini,” a bikini whose bottom had a window in the front allowing a view of, well, pubes.

The mid-eighties wave of high-legged bathing suits coupled with the influx of Brazilian bikinis paved the way for a general cultural acceptance of the thong and soon, we found ourselves in the ‘90s, where all things modern and inventive were adopted en mass (hello scrunchies!). Thong underwear had become commonplace. In 2004, a New York Times article put thong sales at twenty-four percent of the total underwear market (sadly, there isn’t a ton of readily available, updated data on thong sales. Come on researchers, what are your priorities?). With a generous market share and ingenious new designs, thongs and the ladies who love them were off to the races. Ladies, except for my mom, that is.

Why is the thong such a non-starter for women in their sixties? I spoke to several women who agreed to comment on the condition of anonymity. I suppose that, like their undergarments, there are some subjects women prefer to keep, ahem, under cover. I suspected their hesitance to accept thongs might have something to do with the negative PR thongs have gotten from assorted scandalous music videos (oh, Sisqo, those were the days) and the trashy, wear-your-thong-hanging-out-of-the-top-of-your-pants-look—one I know my mom is horrified by—but, I couldn’t have been further from the truth.

It seems there are two main reasons our beloved, otherwise progressive thinking baby boomer women have a general distaste for thong underwear. One is that it reminds them of the archaic maxi pad belt contraption that was the generally accepted form of dealing with a woman’s monthly period when they were teens. Am I sorry I brought this up yet? The belt was so odd and so ridiculously uncomfortable that it left them scarred by the very thought of it. The second is that they fear the wedgie. “The belt was the most absurd thing you can imagine,” one woman told me. “It was like having a wedgie all day every day for a week,” her friend added. “And a thong is like having a wedgie. Who wants that?”

I was beginning to see the root of their objections.

Still, I pressed on. With all the advancements in thong technology—more comfortable fabrics, flexible shapes—wouldn’t they want to eliminate VPL? Wait, were they even aware they had VPL? “VPL? Listen, after a certain age, you don’t sacrifice comfort for the sake of appearance,” another wise lady told me. “Besides, who’s looking at my ass?” she howled.

Trust me, someone is.

Despite the bevy of “barely there” thong underwear choices and the emergence of new VPL-reducing products like the thong-hybrid “boy short,” their firm grasp on reality and the practicality with which my mom and millions of women like her view the world has them rooted exactly where they want to be—in underwear that doesn’t remotely resemble a thong. They know what they like and they know what they would never be caught dead in. VPL be damned.

I guess when my grandmother said, “In case you get hit by a bus, always have clean underwear on,” it meant one thing to me and another thing entirely to my mom. At least we both got the message.

Note: In researching this piece, I uncovered this baby for sale. Never stop learning.