How I Became a Tommy Boy

Being a thirty-something adult student, living on my own in New York City and paying a monthly rent I really can’t afford, I responded in the only sensible way to my mother’s annual “So, what do you want for Christmas” query: I asked for underwear. When cash-strapped, what I wear under my clothing is usually not high on my list of priorities and I tend to let them go. I’d rather spend the money on two drinks or some groceries than pay what they expect us to for undergarments.

My four brothers and I learned early on that when we tell my mother that we want any article of clothing for Christmas, we have to be quite clear, not only in terms of size and color, but also in make and model. If I ask specifically for a pair of regular Levis blue jeans, she’ll come back with two pairs of cheaper acid-washed pants that flare dramatically at the ankle. She’ll smile proudly when she explains that the ones I asked for were twice as much as the generic ones and so she was able to get me two pairs of these beauties. And “Hey, who couldn’t use an extra pair of dungarees?”

Lately, my brothers and I have been able to convince her of how convenient it is to simply order our gifts through a single mail-order catalog, like from J Crew or Banana Republic, for instance. That way, when we’re all home for Thanksgiving, we simply circle what we’d like from what’s offered in the catalog and initial it, indicating the size and color. So far it’s worked perfectly. Now, J Crew might not be my favorite brand of clothing, but there’s usually something generic available that I can use for work.  As I said, I’m usually a bit broke around the holidays so I have to be practical when it comes to gifts. This year, however, I somehow neglected to mark what I wanted in the catalog when I was home for the holiday. When my mother called to remind me of this, I thought for a moment and replied, “Oh, I don’t know. Just get me some underwear: a few pairs of boxer briefs in plain, dark colors.” I mean, how far afield could she go on this one, even without the catalog?

I didn’t go home for the holidays this year because my girlfriend and I had just split up and I had to move. So she shipped my gift directly to Brooklyn. When I came home from work one day and found the package leaning against the door to my apartment, I knew exactly what it contained, so I simply brought it in and left it with the rest of the mail piled on the kitchen table. I may have asked for underwear for Christmas but that doesn’t mean I was excited about receiving it. The package sat there for days. Then I moved and it sat for a week or so on a different table in a new kitchen until necessity demanded that I open it and put on a fresh pair of underwear. “Ah, new underwear for a new year,” I thought optimistically.

But my optimism proved short lived as I finished wrestling the tape off of the package to get at its contents. Inside, I found four pairs of boxer briefs in exactly the size I had asked for. But they were from Tommy Hilfiger. Bless her heart. In a selfless attempt to supply me with designer underwear, my mother had inadvertently bought me the gayest underwear on the market. From the moment I put these on I would cross the line and become a Tommy Boy.

What had gone wrong? Looking back, I couldn’t fault her. I did, of course, ask for boxer briefs in that size, and she even came through with plain colors: two in black and two in athletic gray. However, Tommy Hilfiger was one of the first designer lines to adopt an aggressive branding strategy. As a result, the clothing is unmistakable. The red, white, and blue label appears front in center on all of their products. My underpants were identified as a Hilfiger product with the company logo centered on the white waistband, flanked by the embroidered words “Tommy” and “Hilfiger.” I was terrified! I don’t even like to wear T-shirts that identify my favorite bands. I’ve even ruined several articles of clothing while trying to remove their labels with a razor.

But I could either stand there naked in the kitchen and risk being late for work or just deal with it. So in the spirit of the New Year, I put on a pair of the gray ones, because the white waistband didn’t look quite as dramatic as it did on the black ones. I felt ridiculous. Even though I would cover them with a pair of well-worn jeans, I couldn’t get over the fact that I could no longer consider myself straight acting.

I went into the bedroom and shyly looked at myself in the mirror. To my amazement, I looked great! Fitted snugly at the waist, straight into the thighs, they flattered my legs and rear end considerably. But more surprising is what they did to my “package.” It really did look like a “package,” the kind you’d be proud to strut around a Chelsea gym in. Somehow, they were designed in such in way that my more-or-less mediocre manhood was dramatically accentuated, much like a good bra can make even a small-breasted woman have eye-catching cleavage. I looked great...really. And, while I’m not necessarily ashamed of my body, I have never looked at myself naked and said “Kevin, your penis looks fantastic.”

Unfortunately, I will be the only one to see myself in them. After all, I can’t wear them to the gym nor can I ever let a girl see them, no matter how good I look. The fact that I look good in my underwear will be a clear indication to any woman I bring home that I am the gayest blade to ever roam the earth: very sexy, but very gay. But I’m stuck with them. The sad reality is that after moving I’m too broke to throw perfectly good underwear out with the trash. And now, I’m stuck with the added pressure of having to schedule when I can wear them. Is there the remotest possibility that I'm going to get laid tonight? Yes? Well, then I can’t wear them. I'm going to the bank? What if someone tries to rob it and demands that everyone take off their clothes? It could happen!

So like the high-end art thief who has pulled off the heist of the century after stealing one of the world’s most recognized paintings, I can’t show anyone the goods. Sure the cat burglar can go down to his basement whenever he likes, lift the old blanket that conceals his ill-gotten treasure, and enjoy the beauty of the masterpiece--just as I could undo my pants in the privacy of my own home--but the pleasure will be ours alone.

Comments

[mrs mcmuffin]

You made me laugh, thank you.

[maria mcneil]

you are so gay, just come out of the closet; you'll be happier that way!

[fashionfreak]

I think Tommy Hilfiger is one of the most consistent labels in fashion today. The products are made from top quality materials yet cut to an unsurpassable level of style. Other houses should watch and learn.