I feel a bit like Elaine, hoarding the Today Sponge. Only, it’s underwear I’m hoarding. Plain old tighty-whities. 

If you aren’t familiar with the episode of Seinfeld I’m referring to, it’s from Season 7 (1995), and it revolves around the discovery that Julia Louis-Dreyfus’s character, Elaine, has hoarded several cases of the Today Sponge. Hilarity ensues because she won’t share them with a friend—no, she can’t even spare one—and is very picky about which men are “sponge-worthy” and which aren’t. The sponge, you may recall, was considered a real boon back then since it presented a pregnancy-preventive alternative to dealing with condoms. The reason behind Elaine’s hoarding was that the item had been yanked off the market. And now, in 2017, so are tighty-whities. In this instance, Hanes.

Mind you, Hanes is still making underwear. They’re still making briefs. But you can no longer buy regular old Hanes briefs. Or rather, you have to seek them out at stores where they’ve been sitting on the shelf for a long time. Why is this, you ask? It’s because Hanes (and FTL, and the rest will surely follow suit before long) have decided that they want you to buy something new and improved. They have made the decision for you. The old kind are being phased out and replaced. “The underwear people” apparently feel they know best and they’ve made a judgment call on our behalf. More on that later.

Momentarily pulling back for a more macro-view, I think it’s safe to say that gay men tend to get excited about underwear. Straight guys may get excited about underwear too, but the gay male enthusiasm for skivvies (both on themselves and each other) is more like that of straight gals shopping for lingerie and the pleasure their male admirers achieve seeing them wear it…combined. A tad narcissistic? It wouldn’t be the first time.

I’ve moved through all the standard underwear factions through my life: as a kid, briefs; as a teen, boxers. In college, there was some free-balling, but that was more about laziness than it was a real preference. After college and on into my 30s, it was a mix of boxer briefs and boxers. I liked the way boxer briefs framed the male body. My own shape—always an area of intense dissatisfaction even when I’ve been fit—seemed to look most appealing in that squared-off cotton trunk. All those other fancy doilies always irritated me. 

But as I headed into my 40s, the old school simplicity of briefs regained some appeal. I had a friend in Boston who always filled them out really well—like they were tailored for him. And it infuriated me. “Do they feel as hot on you as they look,” I wondered. It was just the sort of question I could never bring myself to ask, although my staring problem probably spoke for itself. Briefs have made a comeback, and if you don’t believe me, look no further than Tumblr for the amount of pages dedicated to how men look in them.

Most recently, I discovered that if I bought Hanes one size smaller than is indicated by my waist, they look pretty good and don’t feel like they’re strangling me. That puts me at a medium. I haven’t worn a medium-anything since last decade, so I welcomed this rather complimentary realization with open arms. That, and they’re cheap. It depends on where you shop, but up until recently a Hanes three-pack could still be had for $5.50, which beats the hell out of a name-your-competitor’s six-pack of for the better part of 30 bucks.

Also, I discovered that Hanes tends to cut their standard brief to a mid-rise, which is better for short-waisted guys like myself. You’ve probably dealt with the full-rise brief phenomenon—an epic intimate garment that unfolds for several days and qualifies as a granny panty. Unless you’re built like former Law and Order SVU star Christopher Meloni or are gifted with a disproportionately large booty, you may as well just wrap yourself in a towel instead since it’ll cut a better shape.

Upon recently deciding it was time to invest in some new underwear, I made the rounds between K-Mart, Walmart, Kohls, and Target to compare prices. And that’s when I discovered what had happened. All of the newly issued Hanes have stickers on the packages advertising, “Advanced Odor Protection Technology.” It’s called Fresh IQ, and it’s designed to help you “feel fresh all day.”

Hanes has apparently decided that we all stink and need a buffer between our musky crotches and the world at large. Fuck you, Hanes.

Anyone that knows me well is aware of my disdain for this pattern in our culture, wherein we go to great lengths to smell “fresh” and, instead, end up stinking of synthetic assimilations to things like “Spring Mist,” “Tropical Garden,” or “Dewey Meadow.” I feel lightheaded just breathing in all the uncontainable perfumes in the laundry soap aisle. 

I like to keep my windows open in warm weather. Fresh air is good. But when my neighbor is doing his wash, my dinner ends up tasting vaguely of dryer sheet thanks to the synthetically scented cloud of steam billowing out the side of his house. Now they want to build the odor masking directly into the crotch panel of my underwear. This feels invasive to me. That, and this concept of “feeling fresh all day” stems from feminine hygiene products. This seems like metro-sexuality gone off the deep end. There are limits, after all.

What’s more, as I went from store to store, my horror increasing exponentially, I discovered that all the so-called “normal” multipacks had been sent back. You no longer have the option to buy them. If there’s an audience for these new products, I can’t blame Hanes for catering to it. What I can take issue with is the lack of options for those of us who prefer not to be automatically freshened. 

The exception, I discovered, is at Family Dollar. The problem there is that they’ve had to put those alarm sensors on the three-packs of Hanes they sell (apparently a hotter commodity than you or I had ever imagined), and the pin goes directly through the fabric, thus boring a hole in your undies before you’ve even slipped them on. I decided to buy them anyway since, at $5.50, you get what you pay for. Now, every time I pass a Family Dollar, I pull over and see if they still have regular Hanes briefs, complete with starter hole. Some of them, I’ve discovered, appear to have been pre-treated with a synthetic scent. Either that, or they were packed and shipped next to Rainforest Hoax-scented bottles of Extra! detergent. Regardless, they require a pre-washing to get rid of the smell. That’s right—I’m having to wash the underwear to remove a smell before I even wear it. 

I’m offended by this development on several levels. First and foremost, I’m irritated by the oppressive idea that we’re supposed to smell a certain way. Have the folks at Hanes never heard of pheromones? Too bad, they’re missing out. However unsavory it may seem to some people, underwear is a pheromone hotbed. And if you think me strange for saying so, I will mention that in Japan you can buy previously worn panties from vending machines—no big taboo. It’s only here in the States that we’re so hell-bent on covering up that which makes us human. Can you imagine how unsatisfying it would be to have a machine dispense used underwear that smelled like laundry detergent, or had moisture-wicked all the perspiration away?

But then, I’m also expected to believe that this is a new “odor technology.” It’s insulting to my intelligence. Is there some sort of chip woven into the fabric? A motherboard buried in the waistband? And then the name—Fresh IQ. Is it smarter than we are? After all, it knows when we need freshening, apparently better than we do. Is there a sensor built in? A temperature gauge? Are there Fraggles in little hazmat suits, hard at work maintaining the freshness in the crotch of those Hanes, barely earning pennies on the dollar? A whole new kind of sweatshop model emerges.

As a rule of thumb, I tend to stick with earthy=good, synthetic=bad. Which doesn’t mean I’m always content to stink like a Neanderthal, either. But commercial deodorants irritate my skin (and the lymph nodes on the other side of my pits, truth told), so I haven’t worn it for years. While living in Texas where the temperature was almost always over 70 degrees except for two months a year, I resorted to using the Thai Stick (yep, that’s really what it’s called)—basically a salt rock shaped like a roll-on. It helped, but after a while you just leave your own smell on it and are perpetually reapplying yesterday’s dried sweat onto today’s armpit. Less than ideal. I guess I’ve just gotten used to not feeling fresh in that regard. It’s all relative. My first boyfriend didn’t use any deodorant. I got used to it. I used to joke with him about smelling like Steak Mafia. Feeling fresh is overrated, and unnecessary modern construction.

I have reluctantly come to the realization that my love affair with Hanes is on the outs, by force. Mom and Dad Hanes have decided I can’t see Junior anymore, and while we can steal a rendezvous here and there, our days are numbered. All good things must pass, and while I’ve stockpiled a decent supply, I have also test-driven the recommendation of a fellow briefs enthusiast: Stafford low-rise briefs (available at JC Penney). Much to my pleasant surprise, they’re kickass. They’re also more expensive, but they’re cut in a pleasing way, particularly for a mid-40s “dad-bod”-type like myself…maybe like a gal’s push-up bra. Lift and separate? Not necessary, really. Lift and squish together is fine. Or even just lift But it’s probably only a matter of time before the aforementioned new technology spoils Staffords for me as well. I absolutely refuse to jump on board.

All kidding aside, you have to wonder: If there’s no chip, motherboard, sensor, or Fraggles involved, then chances are the fabric is chemically treated. In this case, “technology” is being used as a euphemism for “chemistry.” Do we really want unnecessary chemicals so close to our sweaty nuts? Mom and Dad Hanes need to keep their greedy mitts out of my drawers.