On: Men's Boxers, in Brief

But not men in briefs, sadly. In boxers. Which are the very things that have inspired this little missive. Which came to me as I lay in bed this morning about 5am. As these things do. To me.

So yes. Boxers. I try to avoid most retail establishments during the holiday season. I have a particular aversion to the big box stores frequented by... well, by everyone. And their entire extended family. At the same time. All at once.

And still, by what I can only assume to have been cosmic forces that would not and could not be defeated, I found myself waiting in line at a Gap in mid-town Manhattan approximately two days before Big Baby Jesus' big day. The line snaked around the cash wrap, over the "2-for-1 cardigans", through the "perfect chinos", and under the "ideas for her" which, oddly enough, did not encompass the cardigans or the chinos. Ostensibly, neither were "for her" nor were they, as I believe to be the case, much of an "idea." No, really. Nothing says "I couldn't give a shit" more than a shapeless generic cardigan or a pair of taupe-colored chinos. Or taupe anything.(Fellas, take note. If your girl wants to wear taupe, let her make that decision for herself. Please and thank you.)

At any rate, as I waited in a line that moved at the speed of slugs with salt hangovers, I was given occasion to contemplate the MASSIVE WALL OF BOXERS that had been some merchandising manager's merchandising epiphany for the "impulse shopper."

You know what? I'd like to rescind my previous statement. Boxers say "I couldn't give a shit" even louder and with greater magnitude than cardigans and chinos. I'm just sayin'.

Particularly these boxers. Some were seasonally themed, with repeating patterns of candy canes, christmas wreathes, and menorahs. (Yes, menorahs.) Others were adorned with palm trees and fish hooks and other really random sundry. And still others were inexplicably plastered with black and white portraits of every bad American Apparel ad model ever. Which, for those of you who don't know, is EVERY. AD. EVER.

As I stood there, gazing upon this shrine to the least supportive form of male undergarments, I couldn't help but wonder: who comes up with these ideas? Putting aside for the moment the question of whether or not any man wants his johnson shrouded in Christmas candy or candelabras, who were the guys sitting around that big table, storming their brains out to come up with these ideas? What was that conversation like? And who was the jackass that said, "Hey, I know! Let's put sketchy, black and white photos of homely chicks you'd never consider dating on these bad boys. That'll really get the trouser jockeys racing!" Then an even bigger jackass decided they had to be PC about it, and include photos of the boys who used to get strung up by their briefs in the locker room after gym class?

I really can't even know. But this is what occupies my brain in the wee hours of the morning. And feel the inexplicable need to share with everyone.

Do any fellas care to weigh in on this? Do you care what's on the canvas when you're pitching the tent?

Ladies (or gents), do you buy your guy boxers with fish hooks as a symbolic representation of the careful dynamic you've established in your relationship?

Does anyone, male or female, want to get lost in the heat of the undressed moment only to gaze upon the half-formed faces of people they cruelly picked last for kickball?

And before you answer that, consider.