It's been a rocky path to where I am today, fraught with poor choices and matronly zeal—Aunt Brenda was the first to show me that lace can go there. And that was in my teens. And to my mother's chagrin, I liked lace there. I am sure she didn't appreciate my aunt's assistance that her nighttime commando regime should be the reason she's never suffered from the perils of yeast, but I was a teenager ready to question everything I ever did just because my parents did it, and so I found myself ready to shun my collection of white cotton briefs (and maybe try a pair in pink instead).

Fast forward many years, many uncomfortable experiments, irritating needs to tug at oneself in public, and my first pair of low-rise jeans, and I know...I know...that God had his hand in producing that first pair of hipsters. There can be nothing better.