P turns from Pimp/Pervimpo to laundre critique today...

As I read back, boy am I bursting out in bouts of involuntary laughter. Hell, the unorthodox stuff that fill my brain..

Everytime I enter a laundre boutique, I have the same gripes like a broken record-- they discriminate against D-cups. I think that is so mean. And don't get me wrong, I do not think I have big boobs-- it just happens that the cup seems big, of which it is probably inherited as there are E's and F's in the family. I have a tiny chest measurement, which thereby makes It all quite an illusion-- if I were to be nude, I'm nowhere near the porn stars or amateur porn stars, and I don't mean those papaya-drooping or cups-runneth-over type of look. Like how my body shuts down into sleep the moment I'm experiencing some sort of acute pain, like how durians cure my sore throat, or how I can build biceps in 2 hours of wall-climbing, my body is beyond weird. A fact that I'm trying hard to come to terms with.

But I digress. I know this is pretty sordid, weird and perhaps even gross to blog about boobs, of which the topic keeps circulating in my mind because I am reminded of boobs everywhere I go, by the people who keep talking about boobie galore. Yet I think it is bloody unfair that they labels do not cater to seemingly-bigger cups. My choice, therefore, becomes limited exponentially. And we're not talking about stocking 36E or 38 sizes. We're talking about smaller numbers. It is, utterly unfair. It is, therefore, one of my main gripes whenever I shop, which motivates me to move to a Boobie Land of sorts where I can have a happy choice.

Before anyone starts to get bemused and point out that the laundre drawer is spilling out, I'd like to make one point-- you can never have enough, a.k.a. the more the merrier. The foreigners always complain that Singaporean women/girls wear granny underwear-- that, of which I can vouch for, not in terms of myself, but in terms of those whom I know who really are clueless and think that the panties my grandmother used to wear (bless her soul, she was old and therefore, excused), are quite the norm. For teenagers and young women.

Now, of course, there are local women who have gorgeous laundre. Those people, of whom I am immensely proud of. It thrills me to buy or receive new items in the yummiest colors, materials and cuts-- to add to the entire repertoire. And I'm willing to spend on quality-- otherwise, people are willing to spend on quality for yours truly. Which is heartening.

Singaporean men/boys, at least most of those I know, do not really understand the need for gorgeous laundre. Otherwise, even remotely suitable laundre. They are among those who still have their mummies buy them (ugly) boxers or briefs. And they tell me they have holes in their own underwear. Holes, for crying out loud. I know how conventional wisdom and pop psychology purports that men are the functional people who are interested in utility over aesthetics. That aside, doesn't it border on pathetic?

So, if we revert to the utility/functional aspect of female laundre, before veering to the aesthetics argument, for instance, wearing a wonky, ugly, discolored bra under your clothes would look terrible. Think of the unsightly bulges, and the unflattering look. Ouch. Visual assault. Think of the many women who have been improperly fitted and therefore wear bras so tiny they squeeze the shit out of the boobs, or so loose the bras keep dropping. And this is precisely why items like t-shirt bras and seamless bras are not the greatest pieces of fiction ever invented. Like how I keep reading Victoria's Secret and Triumph spokespersons claiming, many women are wearing the wrong sizes.

Otherwise, think of those who wear white laundre with white clothes. I think white pants are the one of the nicest pieces of clothing ever, in that they are highly flattering. But wearing white laundre beneath them looks sorry, highly visible and utterly tasteless. Not drastic enough, you might argue. Let's focus now on wearing a wonky white bra under a black top or dress that has the threads heavily meshed together. One may not be able to see the bra normally, but under heavy light, or in photographs, hell, you'd rather wish you were naked.

Consider those repulsive transparent straps worn together with spaghetti-strapped tops, or worse still, with boob tubes. Guys, remember your comments dripping with the utmost of distaste-- that these straps may be transparent, but not invisible. Therein arises the argument that the bra will drop if strapless-- but if you opened your eyes especially if you claim to be so worldly, it is precisely because they are not of the right size; otherwise, there are things like silicon stick-ons, additional front clasps that can be added like those of low-back bras, nipple stickers, etc. Otherwise, don't wear such tops. They are a hideous eyesore. And can never ever become an acquired taste.

Another mis-trend which can be classified under environmental pollution would be the two thick bra straps sticking out when one is wearing a racerback top. The point of the racerback cut is to expose the sides of the shoulder blades, rather than to add two strange-looking fixtures. Funnily, most females who embark on this misadventure wear black bras, even if the top is white (another absolute no-no, unless you're as hot as Angelina Jolie).

Now, I'm not adverse to females who show their bra straps if they are wearing spaghetti-strapped top. I'm slightly more forgiving about that look-- but at least, stick to a strap color that is in the same color family or of a different hue or nuance of the top. If your halter or cross-strapped bra straps peek out slightly from your halter-top, it's fine with me. At least they are of an appropriate cut. Otherwise, many boutiques sell bras with gorgeous straps. It looks less put-offish. Seriously.

Therefore, normal and plain-looking laundre, when worn properly, especially under materials like lycra and polyamide, serve their function well. They make one look groomed. Or at least, not puke-inducing.

Philosophy is something that is the soil in which all the other disciplines, our cognitions and our emotions are anchored in. That is a view I'm inclined to take. Essentially, it can be divided into five branches, namely metaphysics, epistemology, ethics, politics and aesthetics. Which also supports my argument for the aesthetic component of life. Face it, we are somewhat drawn to beauty. We gravitate to it, sometimes unconsciously, akin to how our brains perform the countless permutations of mental integrations of what enters through the sensory filters, whether we know it or not. Studies have corroborated that. Consider experiments and findings with regards to interviewing two individuals of the same ability, the better-looking one is hired. Or even in jobs where image is important, otherwise even the position of a receptionist, looks play a vital role. Which once again, steers the argument back into aesthetics.

I am of the view that that which is aesthetically pleasing may, many a time, induce pleasant emotions and sensations. And perhaps consequences too.

And there goes yet another weak argument that puts me on thin ice again. Oh hell, how do I masochistically veer towards the coldest of the cold. Disgusting. The Accident Theory, that I came up with. If you were knocked down on the road, I think it'd be far nicer to be seen with nice laundre than wonky holey ones.

It remains an obsession and pretty much a vice. I think females who chant "No boyfriend/husband, no need to buy nice underwear." Sad, huh? To need such reasons just to.. look good inside. The heart a.k.a. character is important, and if the facade i.e. clothing is taken to be the exterior, then the laundre the meso. I think those females only make excuses. Because even though I see a good many of them attached, their underwear remains hilarious. Pigshit. Why would you need to have a guy in order to look good beneath? I mean, don't you look at yourself in the mirror when you dress? Or perhaps, yes, blame it on my anality that makes me gravitate involuntarily to aesthetics. An important part of life. So the guy, if he exists, also gets to benefit. Hell, people are visual creatures. So am I. Amen.

Bra-burning feminists can attack me and hate me. Taste, is after all, not to be disputed when it comes to certain issues, to quote Eleanor Brown. But oh hell, I adore my gurlfriends who adore beautiful laundre too.

And by the way, this was entirely meant to be utterly tongue-in-cheek(/mouth) based on specters of observations, feelings and truisms. Truth is, after all, relative.