At 16 I got my first thong. It was a Christmas gift from a friend and it felt absolutely awful. Just as with cigarettes which I also tried around then, I had to try it several times until I got used to it. But, like those cigarettes, it did something powerful to me- I suddenly felt “sexy”.

That a lurid purple, Little Miss thong, painfully flossing my delicates could possibly have had such a powerful effect on me seems wild when looking back from the comfort of my granny-pant-clad, 41 year old self. And yet, it isn’t an exaggeration. The Me back then felt instantly transformed.

Into what exactly? It could be argued that most 16-year-olds have a moment like this, where, in their hormone-addled state they suddenly realize the power of their sexuality. That mine is so tied up with the Little Miss thong could just be a coincidence.

So what exactly was it? What did I mean by “sexy”? And was it for myself, or was it tapping into societal norms of how appearing desirable should be a girl’s top priority? Twenty-five years is likely to have some bearing on how reliable my memories are, but if I try to conjure up the spirit of that moment, it was that I suddenly looked the way I thought sexy should look: different from my mum in her comfy bikini briefs, the same as the ‘cool girls’, and most importantly at that age: appealing to the boys. I grew up in the age of Sugar magazine, and Just 17, so it’s hardly surprising thongs were the aspirational undergarment of choice. I don’t remember anyone talking about how bloody uncomfortable they were- it was just a given we were all wearing them:

So sexy was, from a young age, tightly tied up with how boys saw us.

How attractive we were to them, not about what we thought, or how we felt about ourselves.

It was very much about the Male Gaze in the Noughties. Sexy equalled boys fancying you. High currency at 16.

As part of this, we also quickly internalized the insidious belief that sexy=discomfort, or at the very least, impractical. The bruised feet after a night out in ridiculous heels, the eyebrow plucking, the dieting, the shaving, the tanning, the Hollywoods (thong-wearing necessitated hair removal, we all believed). Handed down no doubt, from generations of women before us, we blindly followed these painful rituals, only feeling sexy when we were thin, tall, smooth and tanned enough. Which, of course, we never were.

It seems funny looking back, that sexy in those days was purely focused on appearance, and a weird, performative kind of confidence to be mostly felt in ”reveal” moments rather than embodying it throughout the day. These days, in my bubble at least, and what I’m fed by meta-algorithms, sexy has morphed into something else. It seems to have become more. It’s about empowerment. It’s about being who you were always meant to be away from the male gaze (or any gaze other than your own). I suppose it’s freedom more than anything- a freedom to be comfortable in your own hairy/ pale/wobbly/stretch-marked skin.

So is sexy confidence, then? Is it comfort?

And where do knickers fit into this new-sexy? Well, much as I love my dear old granny-pants, I have to admit I just DON’T feel sexy in them. I’m comfy, yes, and I can move my body in all the ways I want in them, but that isn’t the same. Maybe I’m just a product of my formative years, but I feel frumpy in them, like I’m not properly able to express who I am.

Kind of funny that an item of clothing mostly unseen to anyone but the wearer has this ability to change our moods and self-perception, but research shows it actually very much does. In a phenomenon known as enclothed cognition, women rated their confidence, mood, and self-esteem much higher when wearing underwear that was their version of sexy. In other words, if women associate strength or attractiveness with a certain style of underwear, wearing it enables them to embody those qualities.

But for me at least (and the many, many frustrated women on Reddit and other forums) this comes at a cost. We WANT to wear the lacey knickers, the ones showing a bit of cheek, the sexy ones, but they are- almost without exception- designed for a body shape we no longer have (if we ever did). Pregnancy, post-partum, aging, perimenopause- these life transitions alter us and our bodies to the point where the undies we want to wear chafe, slip, and leave us only partially covered, or walking around experiencing the genital equivalent of tooth-flossing all day long.

Call it my midlife crisis, but out of this precise fury avluv was born. We are designing the knickers we want to wear so we no longer have to choose between frump or floss. Knickers that are the best of both worlds: comfortable and sexy. God knows, perimenopause is hard enough already without having to give up our identity completely and resign ourselves to a life of Bridget Jones-esque bloomers. And for those of you who love a thong but can’t find a comfy one? We’re not ruling that out for future styles*.

Sexy may be subjective but comfort is essential to it.

*My sixteen year old self would be thrilled.

- A.K.