How Thong Thursday Made Me Hate Thongs, Also Bathing Suits are Stupid
I am about to rant about thongs. I’m sure you guessed that.
This post is inspired by a recent time getting ready to go and sit near the pool. I had a pair of bottoms to go with my top that I would say probably technically fit, but that I would not feel comfortable wearing nor confident in doing so. They rode too far into the middle of each butt cheek. Not in the butt cheeks in true wedgie fashion where you have to pick and dig to get fabric out from a place it doesn’t belong to begin with. But when I walked, the elastic was cutting into my ass and giving me the feeling that in a couple more feet it would be a wedgie. If it ended up being a wedgie, than why didn’t I just buy thongs for my bathing suit bottoms? There are probably bathing-thongs. I, mean, I don’t know for certain, but there must be. I’ve never been a thong wearer and I’m not going to google it because I have no intention of wearing a regular thong let alone a swim-thong.
Bathing suits and thongs are stupid articles of clothing.
The only reason I ended up with these particular swim bottoms to begin with was because there was a serious going-out-of-business sale and they matched the top I had bought weeks before. I bought them for versatility and to have more than one pair of bottoms to go with the top. The day I bought the top, I also bought a pair of swim shorts (which are totally comfortable and actually kind of cute even if not drop-dead-sexy; I’m a mom, they’re mom swim bottoms, ok?). I didn’t really think about getting the actual matching bottoms in regular underwear style. So when I went back a few weeks later and the matching bottoms were reduced to less than $10 I figured that was a huge win. Bathing suits are ridiculously expensive. At less than $10, I bought them without trying them on. It just didn’t occur to me that there would be an issue.
They were the same brief-style as regular underwear. They were the same size as the underwear I normally buy. So when I decided to go to the pool and maybe brave wearing the regular bottoms – which would have been a huge fucking deal because I’ve been avoiding normal bathing suit bottoms for like five years – I was seriously disappointed to discover I would not be able to wear them at all. Why? Because they are stupid. Stupidly riding on my butt cheeks and dangerously too close to sliding into my crack.
I’m thinking, even if this is how normal bathing suit bottoms are supposed to be worn, I don’t want any part of it. Even if everyone else feels totally comfortable sporting these bottoms that cut in the wrong places, ride into the wrong crevices, and have no regard for whether they look amazing or terrible as a result, I don’t want any part of it.
I don’t want to condone the ass clown who decided that women’s swimwear should be ridiculous, uncomfortable, slinky, and nearly non-existent.
Are we going for a swim or a photo shoot for some pin-up calendar? Like just how shorts have become increasingly shorter to the point where they look more like underwear than shorts, bathing suit bottoms that are supposed to look like underwear now feel and look more like thongs. A thong is merely a half a pair of underwear and that is being generous. Clothing continues to shrink and continues to be less practical, less comfortable, and even less affordable. I’m surprised that thongs haven’t also become smaller. Maybe they have, actually. I don’t buy them, so I don’t really know. How much smaller can a thong get really without you actually just going in to buy nothing but the tag that used to price it. I just don’t understand what thongs are all about.
If I don’t like my normal underwear or clothing riding into my ass, why would I buy a piece of clothing that’s sole purpose is that?
There’s just no sense to me in purchasing a piece of clothing that is uncomfortable, mostly unseen, and just as expensive as a full pair of underwear. Again, I don’t know much about it specifically because I don’t own thongs. I have only ever owned one and it was terrifying yet necessary and also extremely stupid. Just saying it out loud gives me a flashback.
Here is my thong story:
I was a sophomore in high school and made it onto the varsity field hockey team. The seniors at the time had their ideas of hazing. One of them was Thong Thursdays. At first it started off as a fucked-up team-building thing, or team-conforming if you prefer as that is really more what it was. Everyone was supposed to wear a thong on Thursday’s. It crossed the line from team-conforming-building to hazing when the threats began. There were threats that there would be tests. You could be randomly “pantsed” in the hall by a senior to check if you were following the team rules for Thong Thursday. It was hard to tell what would be worse. Being pantsed wearing a thong or being pantsed not wearing one and having to then perform whatever “apology” they came up with for having broken the Thursday rule.
The me now would be like, “Fuck you. Pants me. I dare you.” I would realize that if I got pantsed and they took the dare that I had the options to pants them back and/or own the fact that my ass was out there for the world to see in the seconds it took me to pull my pants back up. The older more confident me also realizes how potentially unsuccessful their attempt would be. How would they have really been able to drag my pants off me in a quick yank passing me by through the hall if my pants were snug fitting, zipped, and buttoned. At that time, of course, it was fear and intense anticipation-anxiety over the potential humiliation. As a high-school kid and a newbie on the varsity team you’re desperate to be seen as cool as they are and as “one of them”. Consequently, unbeknownst to my parents, on a shopping trip out with friends, I bought my first and only thong.
I don’t even remember where I bought it, but I remember it being silky and black and I remember how raw my ass felt after the first day wearing it.
I remembered that and how gross it was to have to pick it out at the end of the day. You don’t even know how much moisture your body produces in that area until something is permanently shoved into it for hours. I mean like, if you left a Q-tip in your ear the entire day would it be the same? The worst was the Thursdays that were game days and the seniors decided we would wear our uniforms. Now you had a skirt on and your thong and it was far easier to flip up your skirt and drag down your spandex to prove your allegiance to the holy thong day.
Those days were worsened by the idea that you would get to the locker room that night and discover that you had forgotten regular underwear and now you had a choice: play a game without underwear at all or play the game in your thong. Given the choices, I would play without underwear altogether. I can think of nothing else worse really than a piece of clothing that is supposed to be sexy but feels like sandpaper wedged between your ass cheeks while you run and sweat profusely. I mean, could you even shit or wipe after that? I’m not sure.
Fortunately, I never forgot regular underwear. I’m certain I would remember if I did.
It is no surprise then that there was never going to be any hope for me to want to enjoy another thong. After that year, when the seniors graduated, the next wave of seniors didn’t reinstate the Thong Thursday rule, at least not to my recollection. Certainly by the time I became a senior, we were not imposing that on those below us.
Well into my adulthood, even now when a thong would be appropriate for an outfit – be it a dress or pair of pants – made of a certain type of fabric that shows every line of your undercarriage, I never purchase a thong for the purposes of being line-less in my clothing. Let the lines show. Let the world know I’ve got real underwear on. Let the people who are objectifying my body and noticing that kind of detail because they’ve got their eyes glued to my ass know that there is an extra layer there for them to have to go through if they want a piece of me – assuming I would consent, of course.
Lots of people find thongs comfortable. This is what I have been told by thong lovers.
I don’t understand that. Was I wearing mine wrong or something? Is my ass too big for one? I mean that one piece of cloth that is a straight line and connects to the rest of the fabric can only go in one place. I guess I could have had one that was too big? OR not the right fabric? Doesn’t matter. I don’t care. That place on my body is for exits only. It’s not an entry point or a holding point. It can be a sticking point when those wedgies start happening and even that drives me crazy. I’m just not going to put myself in a purposeful situation of discomfort.
I don’t care who says tightly-cut bathing suits or thongs are sexy. Fuck ’em.
They’ll have to find something else sexy if they want to get with me because I’m not sure I’m going to be open to this one. I’m not going to wear stupid clothing that makes me feel stupid when I have to pick it out of my ass. I mean this totally contradicts my other post (the next up in this series of commentary on clothing) about everyone having permission to yank at their private parts to get their clothing out of the crevices but seriously, this thongs and thong-like bathing suit bottoms are not for me.
I don’t want to feel stupid, act stupid, wear stupid things, or spend the money willingly to make these things happen. There are plenty of other things that I do naturally that make me feel stupid. I don’t need my swim suit and underwear to make me feel like an ass, too. I want those things to stay on my ass, not in it.