Oh, the weird fashion trends throughout history, from foot binding and colonial wigs to torpedo bras and sagging trousers. But there’s one trend that has wedged itself so firmly into our mainstream culture, nobody stops to think how weird it really is.

I’m talking about the thong. A descendant of the loincloth, it’s been a leader in fabric conservation and ass revelation for thousands of years. But it soared to new, butt-flossing heights in the 1990s along with Baywatch ratings (and boners for Pamela Anderson’s bright-orange thong swimsuit). By the end of the nineties, the thong was a top-selling undergarment and even had its own Grammy-nominated anthem with profound lyrics like “Dat dress so scandalous…see ya shakin’ that thang like who’s da ish…she had dumps like a truck truck truck.”

I don’t wear thongs, for the same reason I don’t wear a hand mixer between my whoopie cakes. But I know why many women do: to hide unsightly panty lines. I mean, god forbid anyone know you’re wearing underwear under there. DISGUSTING. You must give the illusion of being completely naked beneath those pants at all times. Unless you’re a teenager flashing a “whale tail” – a g-string peeking out of low-rise jeans, popular in the mid 2000s – which is less hiding the panty line and more of a 3D billboard on your backside: HEY LOOK EVERYONE I’M WEARING A THONG TH THONG THONG THONG.

Some women say thongs are more comfortable than regular underwear, that it’s the fuller style that actually ride up the bunghole, necessitating the frequent “pants-up-me-ass pluck-down.” So, what, skip all the maintenance and get undies that are already halfway to your colon?

Admit it, hooker. Thongs are not about comfort. They’re about selling your ass to the world. Just like high heel shoes and lower back tattoos and those jeans that give you yeast infections but HOT DAMN LOOK AT THAT SWEET ASS. Once again, we women sacrifice comfort in the name of beauty, and booty.

Besides, it’s a couple inches of fabric. Why bother? Why not go commando and get that authentic naked-under-there look you so crave? Because you need something to create a barrier between your slacks and your ooze station. But your thong ain’t protecting nobody except stockholders at Victoria’s Secret. Do you even realize how close together your love tunnel and your chocolate channel are? Try two inches or less. That thin strip of fabric is a germ highway paving the way for poopy particles to get to your panty hamster. And that’s not very sexy.

I get the appeal of concealed panty lines, but there’s got to be a better way that leaves my asshole out of it. Personally, I’m a fan of the seamless panty. It’s a granny panty to hard-core thongers, I suppose. To them, I may as well be wearing my mother’s satin fullbacks. But I don’t hear any visitors complaining up in here. The seamless panty hides panty lines pretty well, and it’s still a comfortable, full panty. Because I have a full ass. I don’t do anything half-assed, thank you very much.

This article appeared in the March edition of The Overcast, Newfoundland’s arts and culture newspaper.