SHOCK CONFESSION: I’m addicted to granny knickers

By Gabrielle Jackson

I’ve got a confession to make: I’m addicted to granny knickers.

Fast dry, sweat wicking, anti-bacterial travel knickers from the French travel brand, Tilley (I’ve dropped the French in to give them some credibility that they don’t deserve) are now my go-to everyday knicker grabs.

I know they’re ugly. I even know they turned off a very attractive French man who was a sure thing (if you know what I mean). He hung around for a week while I wasn’t putting out or doing anything, really, other than reading my book and complaining about the Tanzanian heat.

We had some of the best kissing sessions of my life in the week I hung out with him. He followed me everywhere. And even though I hid from him for one whole day and when I saw him see me, I ducked, he persisted. He was practically begging for it. Some nights I actually saw the drool dripping down his chin.

In other words, I was doing everything right.

But then I got sunburnt (owing to his inexpert application of the sunscreen on my back – bloody people with nice skin have NO idea) and he caught me lying in bed wearing just my granny knickers. White cotton knickers that came almost up to my waist. The white had stayed remarkably white, if not bright, but there was some definite pilling action happening.

The passion died immediately. Nothing was the same after that. He was French! And pointing out to him that the horrible, saggy, humungous knickers were in actual fact made by a French brand did nothing to reignite the passion*.

What makes the situation even more remarkable is that I wore a matching underwear set every single day from the time I was 21 until the time I left for my kebab quest at age 34. Every day, I would dress in perfectly matching, bright-coloured bra and knickers. I wouldn’t leave the house without a matching set.

Granted, most of these sets were given to me by my mother every birthday and Christmas (they’re easy to send in the post), but I wore them and I loved them. When I felt horrible on the outside and hadn’t brushed my hair or washed my jeans, I felt good underneath.

For someone who works from home and pretty much wears the same uniform of jeans and a t-shirt/jumper every single day of the week, having something nice and special on her body is important. If I didn’t wear my lovely underwear, I may as well not even bother to wash. They made me feel good.

And then I travelled with my Tilley. They were wonderful things for travelling: they never got crusty or smelly, even after 20-hour bus journeys in the Indian desert. They were easy to wash and dried quickly.

But they were hideous too look at. Hideous! My travel companions were horrified by them.

So how can I admit that now, home to a place where it is not difficult to wash your knickers or change them regularly, where I have access to vast array of lovely matching sets, I am still wearing my fast dry, sweat wicking, anti-bacterial travel knickers? 

Should these knickers be hung out to dry for good?

Even though I know that they dispelled a man who was besotted** with me – the surest sure thing of all time – I am still addicted to them. Post travel. I only have four pairs and I keep wearing them, washing them, and wearing them again.

How will I break this vicious cycle? How can I get back to wearing pretty, colourful matching sets that I didn’t even know were uncomfortable until I became so well acquainted with my travel knickers?

And this is coming from a 35-year-old woman who is currently living with her parents, has no job, a deformed finger, a bulging bicep, can’t drive or use a knife and fork and is writing this article using voice recognition software because she can’t type***.

I don’t have much going for me so my nice underwear should be my ONE asset.

What am I to do?

*This isn't entirely true. Some passion did ensue, but I judged him harshly for judging me on my knickers and went off him - and the snog sessions - pretty quickly after that. I don't think he was too bothered.
**This may be a slight exaggeration. Although he did ask me to meet his parents. What do you think that means?
*** Owing to shoulder surgery I've had after being run over by a train in India (wearing said Tilley knickers. Turns out they can protect you from thrush but not trains. Good news is, even though I landed in a pile of oil and shit on the tracks and had to lay there until the train went over me, the Tilley knickers washed up a treat!)

Have you got an opinion on big pants? Tell us about it.  

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