An Open Letter To My Bra And Panties

Open letter to my bra and panties- Courtesy of Cacique

This is an open letter to my bra and panties. I thought since Alicia Keys could write a letter bidding makeup a farewell and it be considered “revolutionary” than these constrictive ass underwear could kick rocks as well. I know there’s a sister out there with her fist in the air sitting in the living room commando style. Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaas, sis. I see you.

I wasn’t always a rebel when it came to my undergarments. As a young girl, I could never imagine not wearing panties let alone not wearing a bra. That had to be the behavior of ladies of the night. Right up there with red nail polish, lipstick and ankle bracelets. All three of which I wear today. Go figure.

Ironically, there was a lot of shade being thrown at Mrs. Swiss Beatz. Granted, I didn’t need an announcement about her choice to refrain from wearing makeup but folks’ pettiness was on level 10 with shady ass comments about her past acne problems and her endorsements with ProActiv. She looked gorgeous but really she hasn’t done anything different than any working mom who rocks a bare face while ripping and running around for herself and her family.

Open letter to my bra and panties- We don't need you.
Open letter to my bra and panties- I don’t need you.

Now- you may be asking yourself, “How the hell did she end up writing this letter to her oppressive undergarments?”  Well, it wasn’t difficult. Believe me. It wasn’t at all. I hated the feel of elastic squeezing my pregnant belly and thighs. Underwires that scraped and poked my flesh and it didn’t help that I’m so well-endowed that the weight of my ample breasts makes the bra straps dig into my shoulders. I had my baby and never went back.  In fact,  “I raaaaan.. I ran so far awaaaaay.” See what I did there? I ran to freedom and Why can’t I just pay my homage to the motherland and let my shit hang free? Burn this bra, these drawers, pantyhose, socks, girdles, Body Magics, Spanx… all of it. Burn it to hell. Give me my t-shirt or bata and let my wahoo catch that breeze. I, literally, don’t wear my outside clothes in the house unless I have company. I don’t give a damn who’s offended. If my daughter wasn’t here, I’d be naked. I don’t ever see me going back to the matronly, patriarchal bindings of ye old Europe… Nope, Mother Africa runs through these veins, baby.

Yes, Alicia… I’m with you. Let’s liberate ourselves… No shade no bullshit. This is a judge-free zone. Hide your makeup. Hide your panties and bras. Hell, hide your wife and kids… just be happy in the skin you’re in.




K. Araújo, a native Detroiter, is a cross between Claire Huxtable, Rosie Pérez and Millie Jackson. Widow, professional dragger of filth and Mami to the dopest Ethiopian EVER, she is the Editor in Chief of “Negra With Tumbao” and a Staff Writer for “The Urban Twist”. Keka has been known to shake what her mama gave her, is the hell and high water, an expert salsera and cussologist with a penchant for the finer things in life and is and forever shall be- unapologetically black.

  • That’s a brilliant piece and a delight to read. Warm greetings!

  • Mary Burrell

    I love this post glad I found you like your perspective on different things.

  • I stopped wearing a bra about six months ago. I no longer experience back and shoulder fatigue, my breasts no longer swell and become sore as a PMS symptom, and all the marks from the straps are fading. In the warmer months, panties are optional, especially when I’m wearing a dress. Your girl has to breathe!

    • Wow!!That is awesome!

      I only wear a bra outside…these babies are too big not