Here's the Lingerie That Changed My Whole Life

I remembered how my mother steered me towards simple JCPenney cottons while wearing silkier undies herself. She encouraged me to get the brands that sold packs of five for a reasonable price. While that seemed practical, there was also an unspoken element with both my folks that I remain childlike, so they didn’t feel their advancing ages. I’d unconsciously gotten stuck there — for decades.

Mom never gave me any of the pubescent talks many daughters get, and she avoided discussions of sex. Movies were the source of most of my information on the merits of fancy lingerie.

When I finally started dating men at 21, I purchased a few racier items. But too often, those items were wasted on a fleeting glance before removal or never worn again as they were reminders of those quickie events. Those buys were the cheapest version of corsets, thongs or negligées that were more Halloween costume than glamorous.

This new, stunning underwear was for a sophisticated woman, not a girl. The construction was exquisite. The lace trims and delicately woven swirls and dots were finely crafted and very sexy, in a way that you’d expect a queen to own them, and not middle-class me.

Wearing these extraordinary pieces, day after day, I began seeing more ways that I, like my parents, clung to immaturity. Sometimes it was while riding my bike to run errands, or making a quick meal that resembled a childhood favorite. (Hello, macaroni and cheese.)

Other times, it was watching my thought process and how quickly it could turn to blame, shame or excuses. Eventually, in my classy underwear, I let go of my outdated versions of myself and embraced something womanly and wiser.

My old self even had a posture that pulled forward into a bookworm hunch like a junior high school girl. With the new bras and panties, I started walking straighter and started noticing many of the things I do well, instead of focusing on my shortcomings.

Dad was a minimalist. He discouraged excess. Before my friend’s generous gift, I was using two identical bras over and over, washing the one that was tattering at the seams and swapping it out for the one with a stain. I imagined that most women wore fancy undies from Saks Fifth Avenue, while I didn’t feel deserving of fancy anything.

Now, with an abundance of silk and lace, I realized that I was waiting for permission to have nice lingerie. I held the idea that one day, I would meet Mr. Right, even if my long-term relationships had not worked out and dates became fewer and farther between. I would set up a home with this fantasy partner, and then, of course, I would want to be the sexy wife, with cool lingerie.

The updated image in the mirror made me realize that I didn’t need anyone else to validate my self-worth. Waiting had become my life. I realized now that waiting and acceptance of scarcity were connected to my upbringing. I remembered being seven when my grandmother bought me a whole bunch of outfits for my beloved Barbie doll. I was thrilled. Barbie would have so many pretty things to wear. Then, my mother stepped in and told me I could only have one of the outfits, and my grandmother would need to take the rest back to the store.

This was a theme. One small square of brownie, or one little Halloween-sized bag of M&Ms, as a dessert. The gift of French lingerie said that it was okay to sometimes have abundance. It was okay to be glamorous. I’m thrilled and grateful to have a generous friend and the life-changing lessons garnered from a lace demi-bra, sheer scallop-patterned undies and all of the other lovely lingerie neatly folded in my drawer.

It’s a wealth I never expected.

What kind of lingerie do YOU wear? Let us know in the comments below.