The Anti-Girlfriend, a good sex-positive, Dan Savage loving liberal, takes a trip down to the protests at Occupy Wall Street. Here’s her reaction to the protesters’ signs.
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Like plastic covered couches, slips are a relic from your grandmother's era. (Photo by evamachandel via CC)
Last night as I was searching for a pair of tights to wear out (cause sadly we’re deep into fall and tights weather), I found a most curious artifact from an earlier era–the slip.
This particular one was black like the tights I was searching for and fell to below my knee when I tried it on for old times sake. As I readied myself for an evening out, I looked through my closet, searching for an item of clothing that I could ear this slip under, but none of my skirts or dresses are long enough for a slip of that length. Cause I dress like a slut.
This futile search got me wondering–do women still wear slips under their clothing? I am going to go out on a limb here and posit that slip wearing (as an under layer, not as primary clothing–we’ve all seen women wearing a one-piece as though it was a dress) has gone out of fashion. Only our mothers and grandmothers still wear them with any regularity, both as a means of not showing off the contours of their underwear and to fight static cling.
It’s not that all of my clothing is opaque. I have often left my apartment in abject fear that the summer dress I just put on will turn see-through the moment I step into the sun. It is at those moments that I wished that I lived with a roommate so she could let me know if I was indecent or not. I have, on occasion, asked people on the street to let me know if they could see my underwear.
But not that having an extra set of eyes is always useful–I one time put this question to a guy I was sleeping with as I got ready to head out to dinner with him. “You think I’m going to tell you if I can see your lacy underwear?” he asked. Such a gentleman.
In that instance, I changed from the lacy pair he favored into this nude, satin, seamless pair, which is a strategy I frequently employ when I’m in doubt about the thickness of a dress, I put on underwear that is skin-colored.
So if the need hasn’t abated, why has slip wearing fallen out favor?
I believe the blame rests with Carrie Bradshaw and Sex and the City.
Remember how it used to be considered poor form to flash your bra strap? Not so after Ms. Bradshaw routinely made the straps a fashion accessory to her outfits. Also, it became okay to wear bras whose purpose it was to be seen through your shirt. Her dresses were as flimsy as was the plausibility of her being a sex columnist for a New York paper and living so extravagantly.
Is there anyone out there under the age of 40 who still wear slips? Am I totally wrong on this point and secretly all of my friends are shielding their underwear and panty lines from the world with a flimsy, skirt-like under layer? Am I just a big slut? Let me know in the comments.
Roofie Riesling?
Over the Jewish New Year, I had a wonderful meal with a wine writer, who brought a Riesling to dinner. Now, I’ll confess–I’m sort of an idiot when it comes to wine. I know that I often prefer red to white but cannot truly detect a difference between cheap and expensive wines. I’m kind of like Leslie Knope from Parks and Recreation. When on a date, she said to server, “I am going to be direct and honest with you. I would like a glass of red wine, and I’ll take the cheapest one you have because I can’t tell the difference.” I actually whooped when I heard this because it perfectly articulates my view on wine. I like drinking it but I wasn’t raised on “good” wine — after Saturday morning services at synagogue my mother would break out the Manischewitz Cream Malaga, drink a thimble’s serving of it and then a few minutes later would say, “Oh, that went straight to my stomach,” as she clutched her midsection. Yeah, so that’s my early experience with alcohol. I wasn’t exactly reared to be a discerning drinker.
Getting back to the Riesling– while it was quite a lovely wine, I can’t be sure exactly how good it was because of my handicap. But what struck me more than the taste was the packaging. It seems that in an effort to youth it up, the manufacturers settled on this saucy packaging (to the left): clothing and heels strewn in a bedroom. Obviously, as the marketing would indicate, drinking it will lead to sex, to “lights out” as it were.
But what if you like the lights on?
This is actually incredible romantic. Normally, I wouldn’t expect more than a text or email. I would suggest returning to the age of chivalry but I really enjoy my suffrage far too much.
Nadia Comaneci in 1977, an early anti-girlfriend and inspiration (Photo by eye2eye via CC)
Apologies for my relative absence last week — only two posts, I know– but I have a valid excuse! I was busy covering the 2011 World Championships in gymnastics for Slate (and my other site). How many other bloggers can make a similar claim? A very nerdy few, indeed.
Anyway, I don’t really see gymnastics as something separate from my anti-girlfriend work. In fact, I would argue that female gymnasts are the quintessential anti-girlfriends of athletes.
Female elite gymnasts, one could argue, are not the most romantically sought after of athletes. Perhaps this is because they are typically so young when they reach the elite level, peaking at ages 15-16, and often very small and underdeveloped looking, they are not often considered top dating prospects until after they’ve finished going through puberty.
Also like most high level athletes (and perhaps more than most), gymnasts prioritize gymnastics first and everything else comes in a distant second. That would making dating and guys a lower priority than conditioning, chalk and hand guards.
When I was doing gymnastics, boys were the furthest thing from my mind. After I finished school (where there also weren’t any guys but that’s a story for a different day), I went straight to practice where I put on the most unflattering type of athletic wear, second only to those spandex wrestling outfits — the leotard. There were guys in the gym but they were kind of like white noise to us. We knew they were there but their presence didn’t disturb us in the way that boys can often distract girls. We certainly didn’t care what they thought of our physical attractiveness.
Furthermore, gymnastics is not a sport that invites participation. While many find gymnastics thrilling, it is not the most interactive of sports. A spectator might enjoy the performance and find himself in awe of the acrobatics and elements on display, but he probably can’t envision himself doing any of those moves, the way he can with basketball, baseball, football, etc. These sports more closely resemble a nimble, delicate dance between individuals. But gymnastics can be done alone even if we impose a team format on it.
With other more popular sports, the difference between the viewer and hobbyist is a matter of degree. Many people run regularly but an elite runner does so much faster. A weekend warrior can imagine himself running faster. He/she can see herself performing a more extreme version of what he/she can already do. However there seems to be something about gymnastics that creates distance between the doer and the watcher. And distance is good for admiration but not perhaps not for dating.
