I Wear Lace Therefore I Am

Image result for red light district amsterdamI don’t care if you sex strangers to make a living, but I have serious issues with the fact you’re not wearing matching underwear.

My first impression of the Red Light District in Amsterdam, etched on my lace-loving mind for all eternity. One woman in particular stands out. She was toned with meat in the right places, wild blonde curls dangled loosely around her determined face as she stood there shuffling her hips semi-seductively beckoning clientele. I didn’t think too much about her story, where she had come from, why she had chosen this career path or if she was happy.  I just thought,

“What the hell was going through your head this morning when you put on an old neon yellow strappy bra contraption and a pair of grey granny knickers??”

I first fell in Love with lingerie whilst spending a year in Aix-en-Provence in the South of France. The French eat garlic and bloat themselves to death on baguettes but still manage to be one of the sexiest races on the planet. How? They love lace. They adorn their bodies with semi-precious fabrics like a tattoo made of Lust. They don’t walk, they Walz. They hold cigarettes like jewels. They sip Café au Lait like it’s Champagne. They’re just sexy as fuck, and they introduced me to the world of lingerie at the tender age of twenty-one.

At that time in my life I was reading two very influential pieces of literature; Discourse de la Methode by René Descartes (Cogito Ergo Sum/I Think Therefore I Am) and my monthly subscription of Elle Magazine. There was an article in Elle saying that no matter what you’re wearing on the outside, embellishing your body with beauty-full lingerie underneath can make you feel like a Supermodel. So just as René would, I experimented.

Image result for lace lingerie redI bought myself the most ugliest underwear known to Womankind to see how it would make me feel. Spanx are an invention of the Devil. Nobody should be subject to such eye-blinding lycra, not even a mirror in a darkened room. No matter how I beauty-fied myself on the outside, I felt hideous, repulsive and unwanted.

But on the days I wore a nice set, I had a new aura about me that you could almost see. It wouldn’t matter if I was wearing a binbag on top, I knew what I had on underneath and it somehow made me feel powerful. Particularly red lace, whenever I wore it I felt like Beyoncé on steroids. I could literally Run The World ten times over.

I wear Lace therefore I am. 

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