This week Rosie discovers the challenges of maintaining her femme mystique.


When I first had sex with my girlfriend Pearl, I wore matching teal coloured underwear and was thrilled to see that she returned the favour with matching black lace. I had never slept with anybody who treated me to matching underwear before and was beginning to wonder if I was perhaps the only lesbian in the world who appreciated its importance.

As wild as this revelation drove me, I also felt a note of slight panic. Was a standard being set here? If I’m lucky enough to continue sleeping with Pearl, I wondered, is she going to expect beautiful lingerie every time?  I had a drawer full of nice underwear, sure, but not enough to maintain this level of sexiness at every intimate encounter. 

For a long time, I managed to preserve the illusion that I went about my day to day life in a matching bra and knickers. Every time we had sex, I matched and so did she. Initially I wore sets that I already owned but they soon ran out and I found myself in a tangled web of buying more underwear every week. I didn’t want to crack before Pearl and was amazed (and somewhat horrified) that I was dating someone who had a seemingly endless supply of beautiful lingerie. 

Our relationship began semi long-distance, so initially we only saw each other once a week. However, nothing prepared me for the small crisis I would have when we booked our first holiday – a trip to New York for five nights. This back-to-back time together was unknown territory and I did what any logical, level headed lesbian would do: bought four lingerie sets, a body and a suspender belt. 

I nearly bankrupted myself by doing so, and came to the conclusion (that I’m sure you did, a paragraph ago) that this was highly unsustainable. My panic buying slowed down and I began to repeat sets that I had bought in the early days of the relationship. This was partly because things were going long-term and I adopted the “if she loves me, she’ll love me regardless of what I wear in bed” attitude, and partly because I now had an overflowing underwear drawer but couldn’t afford to buy myself lunch.

A few months later during some meandering pillow talk, I for some reason thought it would be a good idea to come clean. I told Pearl that when we first got together I was so desperate to keep up with her that I ended up buying more underwear every week to maintain my sex goddess image. I positioned it as a whimsical “aren’t I cute?” anecdote, but when Pearl stared at me, her big blue eyes wide with surprise, I instantly regretted my admission.

“I’ve been doing exactly the same thing!” was her response, much to my amazement. “I thought you had a never-ending supply of matching underwear. I bought a new set every week for months!”

Pearl and I now live together and keep our impressive collection of fancy underthings in a large box in the bedroom. It’s been a few months since I bought any more. This is, in part, because I am now aware that maintaining a good relationship has little to do with matching underwear. However, mostly it’s because it has just taken me over an hour to hand-wash a week’s worth of our knickers, and who has the time for that?

Only reading DIVA online? You’re missing out. For more news, reviews and commentary, support queer content and buy the latest issue. It’s pretty badass, if we do say so ourselves. // //

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