My sister had days-of-the-week underwear when we were young. I was so envious of her undies with the fancy embroidery that told you which pair to wear each day.

Saturday was the best because they were red. For a pre-teen, red undies were the epitome of exciting. You just knew that you were the coolest girl on the block when you wore your red panties under your clothes. It didn’t matter that no one saw them, because they were your secret weapon that meant you could run faster and jump higher, and you'd find all the best hiding places in a game of hide and seek.

At least, that’s what I imagined happened when my sister wore her red panties.

The fantasy of the magic underwear lives on in adulthood.

I’ve read in magazines about how if you wear sexy underwear you’ll feel more confident and this will reflect in how you carry yourself, conduct business, and interact with people. According to the magazines, “granny panties” and similar foundation garments are a surefire recipe for failure in all areas of life, romantic or otherwise. Without lace and embroidery we’re all doomed to walk the halls of Dullsville for life.

Because no topic is taboo when ladies get together, the subject of undergarments featured prominently in a discussion with some lady friends one weekend. For the most part, the consensus around the table was that the magazines were correct. Don a pair of granny panties and you’re ready for the nursing home. One of the ladies is a firm believer in lace. Another buys her sexy undies exclusively from a special store in the mall.

Then there’s the sister of one of the ladies. She's an avid thongist and wears only thong underwear.

Thongs are a bit like opera music. You either love them or hate them. There seems to be no middle ground.

On the plus side, they have that whole sexy thing going for them. Can you imagine Pamela Anderson sporting granny panties? I have no way of proving this, but I’ll bet she’s a fan of thongs.

On the down side, each pair should come with a warning label and an emergency phone number for the WedgiesRUs hotline.

I decided to conduct my own study of thongology and purchased a pair for myself. Being a newbie thongist, I had no idea what to look for in the perfect pair. Is it better for the thongy part to be thin, wide, lacey, or stretchy? I settled on slinky.

Feeling just a bit courageous and eager for the ultra sexy vibe to set in, I donned my new undies and proceeded to slink around the room. One slink and I was slightly uncomfortable. Two slinks and I became nervous. Three slinks and I knew something was wrong.

Four slinks did it.

I couldn’t stand my new sexy undies. I didn’t feel sexy. I felt uncomfortable. Really uncomfortable. Where was that hotline phone number?

I don’t know, maybe becoming a thongist is like learning to play a guitar. You need to develop calluses before you can get really good at it.

Regardless of what the magazines say, I don’t think feeling confident and sexy is all about the kind of underwear you wear. I’ll leave it to Justin Timberlake to bring sexy back. It’s just too much pressure for me. I’ll settle for feeling happy and comfortable—in my life, in my skin, and most especially, in my undies.

My sister has refuted my claims that her red Saturday undies had special superpowers, but I would still like to try a pair on for size.