If the cup fits
Peter Grogan is 'shown the ropes' at Agent Provocateur My inability to remember which Seventies sitcom character referred to somebody's knickers as 'harvest festivals' (because 'all is safely gathered in') has long troubled me, but the matter is now resolved. Ronnie Barker's Fletch had seemed the most likely • candidate, or possibly Sid James in something or other with Frankie Howerd, just a shot in the dark. The navy-blue knee-length knickers issued to recruits in the Women's Auxiliary Air Force during the second world war earned the nickname. They they were also known as 4 'blackouts', which may be even better.
In the tireless service of any of our male readers toying with the idea of purchasing something a little more alluring by way of lingerie — for a wife, a girlfriend, a mistress or even (whisper it) themselves — I have equipped myself to offer a few pointers.
Size is, as one might expect, everything. Delusional thinking is what leads many men into the most common pitfall — that of buying the bras too big, and the knickers too small. If logistics allow, a quick fumble around in the intended recipient's drawers should prove informative and (who knows?) pleasurable as well. Returning nether garments is not on, so remember: 'If it's got a gusset, don't guess it.'
Style needs consideration too. I'm told there are people who consider the arrival of the thong — alongside the push-up bra and the fake tan — to be the greatest contributor to the sum total of human happiness (male) of the last 500 years. But the inadvisability of buying one for somebody who is unaccustomed to wearing it can be guessed at when you consider that my wife refers to them as 'bum-floss'. Male enthusiasm for giving bright red smalls seems to be matched only by female reluctance to receive them, the problem being that they are visible beneath clothes of all but the darkest hue.
A word on holes, which should be restricted to those necessary for passing the arms or legs through: the presence of any other holes — in as much as holes may be considered as presences, as opposed to absences — will be frowned upon, at best, regardless of the semantics.
As corsetieres to the crown, Rigby & Feller's cups runneth over and they are the first choice for people who are serious about smalls (or larges for that matter). Their advice is to choose something loose-fitting like a teddy if you're not on the ball size-wise. And, gents, if the unmentionables really are not to be mentioned and you're shopping for yourself, the nice ladies will be happy to arrange a discreet fitting for you. They have a huge range, all of which — as far as the blurry line between sexy and kinky goes — stays entirely on the side of the former and there's certainly nothing to frighten the horses.
By way of contrast, there is much in the inventory of Coco de Mer to spread blind panic through the stables. The lingerie selection, though small, is perfectly formed and features the rousing 'Tally Ho!' range. They also have a stock of 'vintage' gear — corsets, bustieres and pasties (and we're not talking Cornish). If you call ahead, they'll arrange a session for you with a 'personal shopper' who will discuss your needs and show you the ropes, as it were. I'm not entirely sure how this differs from just talking to one of the delightful assistants, but maybe there's something I'm not getting.
The brash folk at Agent Provocateur are leveraging, or perhaps cantilevering, everything they can get their hands on at the moment. Their advertising poster campaigns resulted in much walking into lamp-posts. Dita Von Teese (beat that for an appropriate name), Kate Moss and the disconcertingly Betty Boop-like Maggie Gyllenhaal (quickly dumped for on-set obnoxiousness) have all fronted the brand and are succeeded by Cockerknee chanteuse Lily Allen. Quality is good and the staff unembarrassable, but the prices seem to have a large element of Hoop-la Added Tax.
Mrs G is no mean lingeriste, so my tentative inquiry about the status of the Ann Summers chain didn't go down too well. 'Why not try Argos?' she sniffed, and it's true to say that you should only consider them if you feel you're the sort of person who would be at home at an Ann Summers 'party'. I was, nonetheless, intrigued by their cupless bras — an idea that sets itself firmly against, if not nature itself, then at least all logic, like buying a shopping basket with no bottom. I wondered what Rigsby would have made of it if he'd seen one of those drying on the clothes line in Miss Jones's bedsitting-room.
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