BJJ Journal #2: In Defence of My Sweet Skivvies.

I have a secret weapon that's actually not such a well-kept secret. After all, they've been pointed at, alluded to, and mocked. I guess it might have something to do with how they sometimes peek out over my pants which can ride down a bit from the rough and tumble of drilling and rolling, and they also have the tendency to daringly eyeball the world through the side-gaps of aforementioned pants.

I am speaking, of course, about my Lucky UnderGis.

The first time I noticed there was something perhaps slightly unkosher about my choice of grappling skivs was when Tits'n'Gritts ~ who was at the gym picking up BJJ Mastah ~ waved her finger at my waistband and loudly announced, "Ooh, nice lacey panties! You can totally see them, you know." After momentarily freezing with mortification, I looked down and thought, Oh, shoot, you're right: I can see them. You can see them. Everyone can see them.

Dammit.

Yet at the same time, I still find myself reaching for them all the time namely because there are very few feminine protocols I observe, but perhaps the most important amongst them are:

• being conscious to wear appropriate support for my Northern assets to prevent the risk of a) developing National Geographic pencil tits or, b) flashing erect nipple syndrome (ENS); and
  
  
• sporting the correct unmentionables down South to sidestep dreaded visible panty lines (VPL).

That said, I daresay I have a few favourite pieces of each in my boudoir, and by far my pick of the underpants would have to be my fabulous lime~green Hanky Pankies ~ which I bought while knocked up for the third time, puking on average nine times a day for sixteen interminable weeks, and unable to drink both alcohol and caffeine. (Fie on the travesties of pregnancy and curses on Eve! What woman must endure to propagate man on earth. Grrrr...)

Nevertheless, what I so adore about this particular pair:

• they're incredibly comfy, almost like you're wearing nothing at all. The Wall Street Journal has referred to them as "lace butter." And when going between classes where you wear fitted pants for one session and switch into gi~bottoms for another, this cut is exactly what you'll end up wearing if you don't want dreaded VPL.
  
  
• have you ever seen a happier shade of green? Normally an olive or fern~green girl myself, these limeys have faded to a delightfully smiley hue. Truly warms the cockles.
  
  
• these undies gloriously live up to their "no wedgie" claim because really, who wants ass~floss that comes with a prize at the end of the day? Just sayin'.
  
  
• they're miraculously, truly one~size~fits~all. They saw me through my 25~lb weight gain with SiKay and still fit me perfectly now. Thus, they're perfect~wearing for even my grossest of fat days, considering how they sweetly lie to me and never get squeezy and tell me I've chunked out.
  
  
• they get washed with my Sweet Gi, which is after every single wearing. Therefore, they are practically Siamese twins who are always fresh and ready for action; and
  
  
• they're rather badass, no? To smoothly execute a triangle on an opponent while wearing lacey lingerie surely gives a girl a hit of something rather potently empowering and... oddly addictive.

But herein lies the problem: Is there a whiff of slutdom ~ or am I being inconsiderate ~ in wearing underwear that might not always stay fully concealed under my gi~pants and top? Am I asking for attention if I wear a plain Under Armour without a shirt overtop when it gets too warm? Are either of those practices hoochy in practice ~ though absolutely not in spirit?

Firstly, in my defence, I don't think I would overthink or worry about any of this crap if I didn't come home from class and have Boy regularly look at me and say complimentary things that make me acutely aware of my body and how my training clothes are fitting me. He'll mention the belly-riding top and peeking~out lacey underwear, and I'll flush with embarrassment, as if I dress that way for attention. (Speaking of which... DAMN YOU, UNDER ARMOUR. *upraised fist shake* Make a top that doesn't ride up, why don't you, because even my skinny~ass boy buddies experience the same problem!) It's eerily akin to my being a really little kid and my father looking at me with a glint in his eye, saying as he noted the hairs growing on my arms, "You are a perverted girl, and you will like sex very much." How it made me feel so confused and dirty, I can't even tell you... even though I had absolutely no clue what he was talking about.

Maybe that's another chief reason I made such a point to maintain boys as friends... and nothing more. I grew up feeling truly asexual, and an equal member of my mostly-male groups. And even now, it still consciously it feels like I have no need to worry because I am one of the guys ~ albeit louder and sillier, and am in a totally safe, completely uncharged environment. Yet Boy keeps reminding me I'm a girl and not a guy, that it's an irrefutable fact I can't escape.

So though I try to ignore him and discount his claims ~ on every level ~ I can't help but struggle with this see-saw battle of conscience, concern, and self-consciousness. I'm reminded of a story told by an old friend who was a martial arts instructor for the Portland Police Academy; he described how a ridiculously hot girl used to come into the gym and trained without wearing bra. At first, the novelty of her bouncing boobs was rather enjoyable for the guys, but it got to the shocking point where some fellows actually began to complain. Wha'? Do such things actually happen? Isn't that somewhat akin to shooting yourself in the foot for a guy? Dare I need mention this foxy chica and the instructor eventually hooked up and had a kid together? It was during the telling of the story where I learned the definition of "hoochy mama." She wasn't impressed, but he thought it hysterical. And well~deserved.

JiuJitsuGrrrl also ascribes to the belief that most women are "whores" and undeserving of her respect, and that the majority of women who enter BJJ are absolute "whores" who want to get male attention unless they prove their "non-whore" worth by actually being serious about the art and disproving her theory that most women are "whores," so... if she notices my skivs, will I fall into the "whoretegory"? Am I an unwitting "whorticulturalist"? Or am I a "whore" who doesn't think she is one, but is in complete denial? Should I even care?

Aggghhhhhh... Mindfuck.

Fundamentally, it begs the question of what's appropriate for the environment, or better yet, if it's not even an issue. Am I sending out any kind of message with my Lucky UnderGis, or does is it completely slip notice because precisely no one even notices them, which is exactly what I'm hoping?

I hate having to be sensitive and cautious about my clothing, and in fact feel fairly indignant I even worry about such silly, trivial things. I only started thinking about it more doggedly recently because one of my BJJ bros made a discreetly tongue-in-cheek crack about it, but it was in such a way that it wasn't creepy at all, just quietly alluding... Nevertheless, it still shocked the hell out of me because I didn't think he noticed. As a result, I've been wracking my brain for solutions, like getting some little shorts to wear overtop Lucky UnderGi's and under gi pants, thus a happy medium. This would also allow quick changes where I could slip into a skirt or dress after class without potentially needing to duck into a scarce restroom to change.

But at the same time, is all this thought for naught? Am I, yet again, overthinking everything to death because to be honest, I don't think anyone gives a flying feck except for my trying to be considerate about such things, and I'm not really caring much this particular second anyhow. My Lucky UnderGis serve their purpose exceedingly well, feel great, are kind of my Linus blanket in BJJ, provide sentimental value, and have evolved into being what they are simply by repetitive choice and habit.

Therefore, I shall not apologize for them, at least not for now. But in the meantime, I daresay there is something to be gleaned from this mental debacle. Herein lies BJJ lesson #2, especially in honour of my Sweet Skivvies:


Do what you will, and flow with it. Regardless of what happens immediately afterwards as a result, you'll probably still end up tapping out... and will hopefully learn something helpful along the way.

(photo credit: This very cool ad for skivvies comes from this guy's neat compilation site of things he likes.)