The Tragedy of VPL

Summer's Eve

Sometime around 6th or 7th grade, I was walking through the mall with my father shopping for Christmas presents when he said, “Whoa, there’s a VPL.” This surprised me for two reasons: 1.) My father is NOT the kind of man who ever comments on other people. Like in any way. At all. 2.) I had no idea what a VPL was. I looked at the woman he was nodding toward. She was wearing TIGHT white jeans and there, unmistakably, were her underwear lines. In fact, said lines were digging into her skin.

My father has always been a man that speaks in acronyms, so I ran a few options through my mind before I landed on the truth: Visible Panty Lines. And then I promptly wanted to DIE because I was just coming into that age where I realized how much freakin’ work it is to be a woman, and my father had just given me yet another thing to obsess over.

I spent the majority of my young adult years being a hippie with baggy-bottomed jeans, so it wasn’t until I moved to Chicago to work at big publisher that I was faced with the VPL dilemma. My extremely-fancy-businesswoman cousin had a closet full of black pants, and an underwear drawer full of thongs. She exclusively wore thongs, so after a shopping trip where we got me some new black pants, she insisted I get a pair. I thought the pants we bought were too tight, but she told me that’s the way they are supposed to fit. I got them home, put them on, turned around, and saw the clear outline of my underpants through the seat. Crap.

I caved and bought my first pair of thongs. Then I wanted to die. I couldn’t handle the feeling of the thin band of material running up my crack. I longed to dig it out. I found myself wiggling around uncomfortably in meetings and at my desk. After what I considered torture for an entire day, I decided: “Screw it. People are just going to have to LOOK AT MY UNDERPANTS. I DON’T CARE!” And I’ve never gone back.

I do my best to make sure my pants, jeans, and skirts aren’t so tight that I give some random person a cause for concern while I’m walking in front of him or her, but there is also a part of me that deeply just doesn’t care. I think part of it is age. Hey, man, I’m just trying to keep my girlie bits all where they need to be. Isn’t there a war going on somewhere that is more important? But I do still like to look feminine and pretty -- and leave the guys guessing as to what is underneath. I’m pretty sure guessing is better than knowing, right?

Do you also suffer from the comfort vs. VPL issue? Since I can’t see my own derriere very well and have never figured out how to comfortably hide my underpants, how do I know if I’m going to end up being That Woman Everyone is Pointing At if I don’t wear thongs? What is the best way to keep your comfort and your pride?

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Read Week 1: From Kitty to Vajayjay: Why So Many Euphemisms?

Read Week 2: How to Find Sexy Underwear That Won’t Give You a Wedgie

Read Week 3: Why I Love The Granny Panty

Read Week 4: (Very) Personal Grooming Mishaps

Read Week 5: Top 10 Ways to Decorate Your V

Read Week 6: Why Do So Many Celebrity Ladies Seem To Love To Go Commando?

Read Week 7: I Go to Rio...

Read Week 8: The Tragedy of VPL