Allow me to share a cringe-inducing little tidbit from a recent People Magazine:
Miranda Kerr’s flawless post-baby body has everyone a little jealous. The Victoria’s Secret Angel, mom to son Flynn, 4 months, with husband Orlando Bloom, bounced right back after giving birth, even hitting the runway in a Paris fashion show. The model mom says she’s most comfortable when she’s “just in knickers,” hanging around the house with Bloom and Flynn. “People have come to the house and I’m just in my knickers,” she reveals. “[But] I feel like it’s more appropriate to have knickers on than being completely naked.”
If pressed, I'll admit that I've engaged in a few innocent dalliances with US Weekly and People. I have read more than my fair share of exposes on the size and incubation of one's baby bump; the botched plastic surgery attempt of certain b-list celebrities; and pages and pages of baby daddy gossip. I've taken those insipid little tests regarding what my perfume says about my personality, which real housewife I would be in real life, and which celebrity hot spot I should visit during my next luxury vacation (hello, Phuket.) I've examined photos to determine which starlet wore those hideous peach jeans the best. Apparently, this is a thing right now. Peach-colored jeans WILL BE the next blogger red pants. Put your money on it. I've studied Candy Spelling's floorplan and wept white hot tears over the breakups of Courtney Cox and David Arquette/Christina Aguilera and Jordan Brattman/Renee Zellweger and Bradley Cooper. Actually, that last one I'm not so torn up about. Because it means Bradley is available, and I have a shot. Bradley, call me.
Anywhoo. I have been there, people. So I suppose that's why I wasn't so shocked by Miranda Kerr's "I'm so squeally suuuuppppeeeeerrrr comfy in my knickers, teehee" comment. For one thing, once your eyes have been photo-raped by Britney Spears' c-section scar (hello, panty-less crotch shot summer of 2006) you've seen it all. For the time being, let's ignore the snarky, insulting message that Miranda lost her baby weight faster than you did, you fat cow, can't you get your lazy ass off the couch? It's the prancing around the house in her undies that I'd like to focus on. Ms. Kerr is a Victoria's Secret supermodel. Either she's totes getting paid to gush about wearing her undies around the house, or she's a devoted fan of underwear in general. I have no doubt that Miranda spends hours lounging around her immaculately decorated ocean-front limestone mansion in nothing more than a pair of lacy boyshorts and a boned corset three sizes too small for her heaving bosom. She and Orlando probably spend hours having sex on top of the changing table and heating up bottles and preparing homemade baby food in less clothing than their entire baby's layette. I suppose her friends should be happy she wears clothes at all. Naked time for everyone! Weeee!
Personally, when I think of a comfortable choice in clothing to wear hanging around the house, I do not think of my underwear. Underwear is designed to stay under clothes - whether they be leggings and tee shirts or sweatshorts or whatever. I did not grow up in a naked house. My parents were firm believers in sheathing our naked bits in layers of clothing, preferably made from wool. And even now, as a fully grown adult, I don't prance around the house in my skivvies. I can only imagine the horror this behavior would cause - the assault of a splash of hot oil against my uncovered stomach while cooking dinner; the giggling of my children as I emptied the dishwasher; the outright staring of the UPS man when accepting a package; the snickers from friends while serving up cocktails in a push-up bra and satin tap pants. Nope, when I want to be comfortable around the house, I dress in ancient pairs of Old Navy sweats and college tees and maybe, if I'm feeling risque, a Gap body tank.
I'm truly curious to find out if you hang around the house in your underwear. Is this something you're comfortable with? Do you enjoy being naked at home? Why or why not? What do you throw on at the end of the day?
If pressed, I'll admit that I've engaged in a few innocent dalliances with US Weekly and People. I have read more than my fair share of exposes on the size and incubation of one's baby bump; the botched plastic surgery attempt of certain b-list celebrities; and pages and pages of baby daddy gossip. I've taken those insipid little tests regarding what my perfume says about my personality, which real housewife I would be in real life, and which celebrity hot spot I should visit during my next luxury vacation (hello, Phuket.) I've examined photos to determine which starlet wore those hideous peach jeans the best. Apparently, this is a thing right now. Peach-colored jeans WILL BE the next blogger red pants. Put your money on it. I've studied Candy Spelling's floorplan and wept white hot tears over the breakups of Courtney Cox and David Arquette/Christina Aguilera and Jordan Brattman/Renee Zellweger and Bradley Cooper. Actually, that last one I'm not so torn up about. Because it means Bradley is available, and I have a shot. Bradley, call me.
Anywhoo. I have been there, people. So I suppose that's why I wasn't so shocked by Miranda Kerr's "I'm so squeally suuuuppppeeeeerrrr comfy in my knickers, teehee" comment. For one thing, once your eyes have been photo-raped by Britney Spears' c-section scar (hello, panty-less crotch shot summer of 2006) you've seen it all. For the time being, let's ignore the snarky, insulting message that Miranda lost her baby weight faster than you did, you fat cow, can't you get your lazy ass off the couch? It's the prancing around the house in her undies that I'd like to focus on. Ms. Kerr is a Victoria's Secret supermodel. Either she's totes getting paid to gush about wearing her undies around the house, or she's a devoted fan of underwear in general. I have no doubt that Miranda spends hours lounging around her immaculately decorated ocean-front limestone mansion in nothing more than a pair of lacy boyshorts and a boned corset three sizes too small for her heaving bosom. She and Orlando probably spend hours having sex on top of the changing table and heating up bottles and preparing homemade baby food in less clothing than their entire baby's layette. I suppose her friends should be happy she wears clothes at all. Naked time for everyone! Weeee!
Personally, when I think of a comfortable choice in clothing to wear hanging around the house, I do not think of my underwear. Underwear is designed to stay under clothes - whether they be leggings and tee shirts or sweatshorts or whatever. I did not grow up in a naked house. My parents were firm believers in sheathing our naked bits in layers of clothing, preferably made from wool. And even now, as a fully grown adult, I don't prance around the house in my skivvies. I can only imagine the horror this behavior would cause - the assault of a splash of hot oil against my uncovered stomach while cooking dinner; the giggling of my children as I emptied the dishwasher; the outright staring of the UPS man when accepting a package; the snickers from friends while serving up cocktails in a push-up bra and satin tap pants. Nope, when I want to be comfortable around the house, I dress in ancient pairs of Old Navy sweats and college tees and maybe, if I'm feeling risque, a Gap body tank.
I'm truly curious to find out if you hang around the house in your underwear. Is this something you're comfortable with? Do you enjoy being naked at home? Why or why not? What do you throw on at the end of the day?
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| Vintage thrifted silk shirt; vintage Ann Taylor silk skirt; Old Navy belt; vintage thrifted Coach satchel; White Mountain clogs; thrifted (St. Vincent de Paul) Michael Korrs watch; Forever 21 rhinestone bracelet |
