A few years ago, my underwear game looked very different than it does now. I was working with a company that spent a good chunk of the year on tour, which often meant sharing close quarters with coworkers between the events we were putting on.

Eventually, you get accustomed to the smell of your desk-mate’s BO, your boss’ toilet schedule, and a handful of other lightly personal routines. Anyone who has been on a tour of any sort knows this: after a few stops, things like seeing each other in underwear become way more normal than they would be at the office. 

I would pack meticulously for these trips. I am, proudly, a concise and intentional packer. I often arrive for four or five-day work trips with the clothes on my back and a small carry-on or backpack. No room for frilly stuff, just my best black tees, a good pair of jeans, and my boots for the week. I would pack my most reliable underwear, too.

I will never forget the time that my underwear selection was called into question by an inquisition of coworkers after-hours in a Washington DC hotel. “You have to get rid of those by the next trip.” I was heartbroken.

While privy to the intimates of others, it was rare that anyone was bold enough to make a comment. The undies in question were (and I’ve never admitted this out loud) my favorites.

100% cotton, definitely from a brand-name six pack from a value big box chain, green and brown camo print with a purple paint streak from the time I impulse-painted a dresser during a midsummer move into a third-floor apartment. There was no choice but to paint in the buff.

From that point on, I was a changed man. Maybe that was the point where I BECAME a man. I threw them away after that trip.

That wasn’t just the point where I trashed that specific pair, but also made the conscious choice to upgrade my standard when it came to underwear.