Little Life Hacks: Wear the right size undies and change your life

by | Mar 7, 2016 | Little Life Hacks | 0 comments


There’s a revolution in my pants and I need to tell the world about it.

I am 39 years old. I have been wearing underpants all my life. Aside from some circa late 1970’s photographs that point to a time when I appeared to prefer a pantsless existence, my nethers have always been housed in fabric.

I don’t recall when it was that I first began purchasing my own knickers. Probably some time in my mid to late teens when parents are officially forbidden from choosing any item for any purpose for their child. Mothers are not nearly cool enough to select briefs for their daughters. But I fear this is where all my problems began.

Cut to two weekends ago when I merrily sipped on enough champagne at an Intimo party (think Tupperware but with undies) to decide I definitely needed a new bra with matching knickers. The party host was keen to make the sale and urged me to try on the undies over my own underwear. She slung me a lacy pair that seemed to have more fabric than my derrière could possibly need and so with surprise, I asked, “What size are these?”

“Twelve,” she told me.

“Oh, well,” I said, slipping the giant undies on, “they’ll be far too bi-.”

They fit like a glove. A perfect little glove for my bum. And just like that, my world was turned upside down.

Ladies, are YOU wearing the right size undies? Because I most certainly was not. 

Here’s how I got it wrong. I wear a Size 8 – 10 in clothing. Occasionally even a Size 6. Based on this data, I have been selecting underpants of the same size.


My booty has been crying out for extra fabric all these years and I had no idea. And yet, I have long been disappointed in my undies. The moment I stopped wearing g-bangers (circa my first pregnancy), I could never find a brief or boyleg I really loved, could never find a brand that didn’t give me the dreaded VPL. I thought perhaps I was buying the wrong type of undies. I knew some women wore a particular brand and swore by them so I was considering putting a call out on my Facebook page for undies recommendations.  But even if I had done that, I would have purchased a size too small and continued walking around thinking underpants were just one of life’s great disappointments.

All this time, I've been dealing with jocks riding up my bum crack and creating indents on my butt cheeks because they were too small for my arse. It wasn’t the shape, the cut, the brand, the elastic. It was my big booty.

Just last week, I had to throw a pair of knickers directly in the bin because I had ripped the lace to shreds fishing out wedgies all day long. Seriously.

So this is my life hack: buy underpants one size up from your actual clothing size and enjoy the roomy comfort!      

This rule may have exceptions. If you are afflicted with white girl flat arse syndrome or if you have no hips to speak of, your bum size might be equal to your clothing size. Or if you have been blessed with extra junk in your trunk, maybe you want to go up a couple of sizes just to really feel that freedom.

But for everyone else, one size up is a good guide. Don’t let pride steal away your comfort any longer! It’s not a number that’s important but the ability to go about your day to day life not even thinking about your knicks because they’re wrapped around your tush like a glorious second skin.

I found half price Bonds undies at the supermarket yesterday so I bought all the Size 12s. All of them. When I got home, I immediately tried them on and found my theory remained true. Oh, the heaven of correctly fitting jocks! I’m wearing a pair of boylegs right now and I can’t tell you how great they feel. I also bought some bikini briefs. They feel amazing, too. It just all works!

My name is Angie and I have a Size 12 arse. And I’ve never been happier.  

Hello friends


I’m Angie!  I mum. I write. I wife. My husband would say this is the correct order.  He’s so neeeedy. I live with my family in Melbourne, Australia, where I complain about the weather for 90% of the year – but I can’t imagine living anywhere else. Except maybe in Lake Como, waving to my neighbours George and Amal each morning.

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