If I’m going to navel gaze, at least I’ll do it in style.
Living in Los Angeles has been hard for me. Although I’ve made a few new friends here, and my sewing business has slowly but steadily grown, and the weather is almost always delightful, and can we talk about the avocados… I miss my home. Every day I think about New Orleans and wish I could be there. Without indulging in too much trendy self-diagnosis, I do think I’ve been dealing with some mild depression for a while now. And if I haven’t had a legitimate mood disorder, my underwear certainly has. We’re both trying to crawl out of it!
These panties replace my black set from 2010. Those were good undies, and have lasted me for four years, but they are starting to get threadbare! I’ve made a few supplemental panties since 2010, but this is my first bulk addition since the original post.
All the fabrics were from my stash, and most of the laces were bought new. Apparently I’ve run through my hoard of lingerie elastic! It feels good.
Remnant from leggings.
Tiny scrap from un-blogged shirt.
Remnant from this shirt. 
Fabric from tiger leggings.
I do also have a couple pairs of plain tan panties to be worn with light unlined dresses. When I was buying elastic for them, Nhi scoffed at my boring selection (I think she may have even been slightly offended). But there can’t be a party in my pants all the time!
They’ve got a higher rise than bikini cut normally would, and that’s how I like it nowadays. The wide elastic keeps them up, and hides my butt crack. Granted, sometimes the lace peeks out from my lower-rise pants. But you know how people layer shirts, and let a camisole peek through? Why can’t I do that with these? I’m not walking around with a crop top and butt cleavage, but I’m also not worried about people getting occasional peeks at the top of my lingerie lace. High fashion or low standards?
I’ve always had a weakness for brass animals, especially if they are fixtures.
Although this is my website, I don’t really like to talk about my personal stuff. It’s not so much about privacy as it is about resisting self-indulgence, or maybe avoiding self-reflection. This post is an exception, because I was feeling introspective when I started writing (3 weeks before I finished writing), and I am trying to be more proactive about my life in general. I guess that means my underwear drawer is a metaphor?
