My love affair with pretty undies started very young, it may even have been passive aggressive. It began quite innocently. I am the eldest of my mothers children, as such I was always very independent. It was the 60s and my mother like many other women was experiencing Revolutionary Sociological upheaval, on the one hand she fully embraced the bra burning Women's Rights movement for herself, on the other she had been raised in Idaho, and in a dooms day fundamentalist religion that forbid physical adornment of any kind (thankfully she did not impress this theology on us, but the residue is difficult to shed), frankly from a child's point of view it created a dichotomy that was confusing at best, and down right psychotic at worst (it has not improved with time and distance). I was 10, and told I needed a bra. I was given money and given advise on what stores to go too, then sent on my way. I hopped on a bus and headed for the Robinson's on Wilshire. I entered the store only having a vague idea of what a bra was for, and why I in particular needed one, because the only bras I had seen were in fashion magazines. I know this sounds strange, but I had never even seen my mother in her underwear, we were required to be fully attired before leaving our rooms ( and yes, secondary school and locker rooms were a traumatic shock for me)our naked bodies were unclean. Consequently my idea of bras was limited to the frilly confections advertised in fashion magazines I hoarded like a starving chipmunk. At that time being a child of color I suppose I was lucky even being allowed in a major Department store, they certainly were not going to help me. So I wondered around, until I found the women's lingerie department. To my 10 year old eyes it was a wonderland of lace, silk and frilly confections that I'd only seen in magazines until then. In my excitement I forgot all about my mother and her strange proclivities about the female body. I was in wonderland, and I was going to buy the prettiest, laciest, pinkest bra ever made, and would you believe I found not only pink but yellow, and lavender, pale green with pretty lacy panties to match, it was a veritable flower garden. Needless to say, I knew nothing about sizing, and none was volunteered, either before leaving home (when she realized my Menes had begun she left a box of tampons in the bathroom with the instruction pamphlet on top of the box, wasn't that thoughtful) or upon purchase. I skipped out of the store and headed for Saks, where I acquired 2 more lovely sets, then off to the Farmers Market on Fairfax for a delectable white chocolate treat before home ('silly silly girl). What I can clearly remember from what was a nuclear reactor meltdown from my mother upon my unfortunately sprite and happy presentation of my recent acquisitions, and mind you I didn't understand most of what was said, what with all the crying, and I was only 10, the jist of it was that, I was a fallen women (at 10 years old), my life was ruined(at 10 years old), and that I had perpetrated this crime against her on purpose and with malicious fore thought(at 10 years old, I did have the temerity to state that' I felt that if she had a particular bra in mind she should have gone with me', that brand of insolence never goes over well). Obviously things did not improve, and I have always retained my love of all manner of lingerie from the sleek and elegant, to the frilly and pretty, the naughty and spicy, to the romantic and sensual. Yes I agree ,my obsession may well be a form of rebellion, but then again I loved the pretty undies even before they became the architects of my 10 year old selves downfall. Now if only I could get that Madonna Butt, any hints, that don't involve a Heart Attack would be much appreciated. I plan to share with you my favorite finds, and locate secret stashes of antique European lingerie to offer in our Antique Emporium. I have found some fabulous online custom made resources that I will share with you, and I am eagerly anticipating all the stories and resources you have to share. Au Revoir till . . .
Yours as always;