Thursday, January 05, 2006
It's About What's Inside (or Underneath)
While I don’t vamp it up on a regular basis, I am pretty confident with my ability to express a tastefully sexy side. Keep it simple and flaunt something alluring. An open neckline is nice but it’s sexy when you pair it with a necklace to draw the eye down and across exposed skin. A knee length skirt might be banker conservative but there is nothing prim when you add fishnets and tall, black, leather boots. Men are basic. Keeping the level of sex appeal simple leaves more time for them to guess and imagine just what you’re wearing under that skirt, if you’re wearing anything at all.
“You can see your bra from certain angles,” a friend once warned as I reached forward in my wrap dress to retrieve a glass of wine.
“I know,” I said with a little smirk. If you’re going to drop three digits on La Perla, might as well flaunt it a little.
Sexy starts with what you’re sporting underneath. No woman will be able to purr in industrial panties a la Jockey. And just because there is lace, the item isn’t necessarily sexy. You need to be comfortable. Picking, tugging and adjusting ill fitting bras and panties doesn’t work. Heck, half of the Glamour Fashion Don’t pictures involve poor fitting intimates. If visible panty line was such the rage, only strippers and hookers would be buying thong underwear these days.
I’ve never been a fan of Victoria’s Secret. In fact, I think their merchandise is crappy quality, crappy design and ridiculous pricing. Calvin Klein is pretty in that understated, barely gender specific type of way. Meaning if you have anything bigger than an A cup on top, you need to take your rack right pass their rack and look for something else. Wacoal does pretty things too but they sometimes border on upgraded Maidenform. Support is important but not at the risk of looking like a Granny.
A loudmouthed woman at Sak’s turned me onto La Perla and Chantelle. Everything sounds better in Italian and French. While I didn’t care for the salesperson, I was blue and willing to try just about anything to up my spirits. Plus, if this shopping effort failed, my friends Ben & Jerry were at home waiting to console me. I went into the fitting room with three different styles and low self esteem. I left the store with six new bras and a little kick to my step. That was four years ago and I haven’t strayed from European intimates since. It might be an expensive indulgence but as I hand over the charge card, I peer into the bag with my new purchase delicately wrapped up in crisp white tissue paper and gently whisper a “Ciao, bella!”