Going Commando
Years ago I started a Facebook group called “Go Commando Or Go Home!!” one drunken night in the dorm. We made stupid titles for each other like “Commando in Chief”, “The Sultaness of Skin” and of course, I was the “Barren of Boxers”. For some reason I’m really good at making puns full of alliteration when I’m drunk… but I digress. The groups missions statement was “For those who enjoy life sans skivvies.”
About a week ago, I received a message from a writer for the Arizona State Press Magazine. She was writing an article about “Going Commando” and had found my little pet project on Facebook. She asked if I wouldn’t mind answering some questions about not wearing underwear. At first, I wasn’t even going to answer, but as I thought about it more and more, I saw a potential opportunity.
If you know me at all, you’ll know I always wear underwear. Sometimes I wear underwear when it’s OK not to wear underwear (In bed…with another person…long story. ). If anything, I should be the leader of the Concerned Citizens Against Going Commando. Underwear is a part of my life. But so is bullshit. Lots and lots of bullshit, caringly hand fed to anyone who will listen.
I decided that I was going to be Josh. Josh who doesn’t wear underwear. And that Josh was going to be part of a very prevalent counter culture of people who don’t wear underwear. I started scheming. I had to have a whole back story. I had to make myself believe I haven’t been wearing underwear for two years. I had to get out of my drawers, and into character.
What makes counter cultures interesting? They have elements that only other people in the culture can identify. (Thanks Sociology class) I became the commando counter culture whistle blower. I started thinking up things that one might do if they were part of a secret underwear free under ground. The very first idea I came up with was a verb: Boxing.
Boxing [boks-ing]
-verb:
- The act of wearing underwear, esp. “boxers.” Back when I was boxing, I could take off my pants anytime I wanted.
Now that I had at least one piece of slang to use, I had to come up with my “Transformation.” Like any good superhero, I needed a story of how I became so great. (I am after all the Barren of Boxers) The legend goes that one day I was late for class, and we had a test. Being fresh out of boxers, I had a terrible decision to make: Miss class for lack of underwear, or man up and go commando. Underwear be damned, I went to class. That was two years ago this April. Ever since then, I’ve been ditching the drawers and loving life.
No super hero has an easy time with their super powers. Clark Kent is always running into phone booths. Peter Parker never manages to get a picture of Spiderman, and Rogue can’t touch anyone. But honestly, what trouble could someone who doesn’t wear underpants get into?
It was a warm fall evening, and barren had potentially found a barreness. She was cute, smart, and just a little bit conservative. They’d been out several times, and she invited him to spend the night at her place. One thing lead to another, and the question of, “What exactly did you think was going to go on tonight?” was sprung upon him. It was apparently unthinkable to be without undies. They never spoke again.
Months later, the Barren found himself under the weather. In an effort to get back to fighting the injustices of the intimates, he went to the doctor. After a short wait, the nurse lead him to a small examination room. “Go ahead and take off your pants and shirt” she said. A grim prospect for the barren. Should he explain the situation, or rely on the nurse’s professionalism to keep her from looking shocked when she turns around to the barren being nekkid.
All of this is nothing compared to the Barren’s achilles heal. His fly. When you’re free of underwear making sure your fly is up is a high stakes game of hide and seek.
These were just my troubles. My “girlfriend” went as far as to sew seems into her skirt so it would look like she had panty lines so her coworkers wouldn’t think she was a slut. These were the trials and tribulations of people who wouldn’t be held down …or up… by the man.
This was all painting an excellent picture of what life is like for someone who prefers purely pants. However, how would these people identify themselves to each other? How could one ask very discreetly, and without offending the other person if they were wearing underwear or not. It was a “touchy” subject for sure.
Enter the “C”. I’m sure you’ve heard of “the crips”. I’m sure you’ve heard they have a gang sign that’s basically a C. I decided that people who go commando needed a special gang sign to throw at each other to identify themselves. I chose the C, as indicated by the red arrow to the left. Not only do we have a universal “I’m not wearing underwear sign” but we also have a dance. For this I was also inspired by the crips. They have a dance called the “Crip Walk” or C Walk for short. To the uninitiated it may just be a stupid dance, but see this dance at a night club, and you’ll know you’re amongst those liberated from long johns.
When this reporter called me, she asked me pretty much every question I had answers for. I told her about the c-walk, the sign, the girlfriend, the doctors office, the date, the transformation, everything.
It was hard to keep a straight face. She kept saying things like, “I had no idea there was such a sub culture about this. You’ve totally opened my eyes” and when I told her about “boxing” she was like, “Oh wow, nice.”
This article gets published in next Wednesdays State Press Magazine. And I can’t wait.