Every girl has her vice: mine’s underwear. My first memories of self-soothing via shopping started around 17 when my local Missouri mall got a Victoria’s Secret. For a mall seemingly able to sustain only Sears, J.C. Penny’s and Dillards, the idea of a stand-alone Victoria’s Secret felt more like stumbling upon some Rococo ruins rather than just a chain store. I’d never known the power of powder-pink and white on strategically folded delicates. Store design is a powerful, powerful thing.
The question these days is how to best care for undergarments. Typically I wash them along with everything else and pull them from the wash before I wheel my wet things to the dryers. Then last week on a jaunt to CatBird in Williamsburg I spotted Tocca’s Stella scent in travel/delicate laundry soap. And at last, I have a raison d’etre for washing my underwear the way my mother always told me was best. Woolite just seems so blah by comparison.