With all the recent press given to the dot-com fallout/shakeout/make-out/bake-off, scant attention has been given to the erosion of an equally important socio-politico-technologico movement: the Underwear Revolution.
In early 1999, a telemarketing survey of 1,237 nudists and Calvin Klein models showed that American consumers desperately wanted to shop in nothing but their underwear. In warmer climates, consumers wished to shop entirely in the nude wearing nothing but their wallets hanging from strings around their necks.
Advertisers quickly embraced the premise that the Internet, and specifically e-commerce, could make R-rated shopping a reality. One year and approximately 16 trillion commercials, billboards, and subliminal messages later, the American public was adequately convinced that shopping in their skivvies was not just a privilege of the Digital Age, but a constitutional right handed down by our half-naked forefathers.
Viva la Revolución de Ropa Interior! ("Long Live the Underwear Revolution!" for readers outside of California.)
I am a card-carrying Underwear Revolutionary. From the day my mother first dragged me to the mall to try on Cookie Monster sweatpants, I've loathed so-called "traditional" or "fully clothed" shopping. I dreamed of a better way to purchase goods and services -- a method that successfully blended the intimate relaxation of lolling around on the living room floor in my tightie-whities with the cold, cruel world of the food court.
On my 23rd birthday, armed with a 28K modem and a glitch-ridden Compaq Presario, I retreated from pants-wearing public life and leapt headfirst into the welcoming world of undie-commerce. Without leaving my bedroom, I could enjoy movie rentals delivered in 20 minutes, groceries in an hour, and delicious Chinese chicken salads before you could say "teriyaki balsamic vinaigrette!"
The period between June, 1999 and October, 2000 is a blur to me -- a mesmerizing collage of moth-eaten boxer shorts, irresistible "purchase" buttons, and confused delivery men hiding behind clipboards. I was in heaven, sponsored by Fruit of the Loom.
Then came the economic poop-storm. Nowadays, Kozmo is dead, Webvan is dying, and Chinese chicken salads come not only with crispy noodles, but also a hefty delivery charge.
Some people say that the dot-com deflowering signals an end to the Underwear Revolution. I spit on those people. In times of economic stress, the true Underwear Revolutionary steps up to the challenge. He thinks outside of the box. He sits on top of the box. He rips the box into little shreds and eats it with a side of potatoes au gratin.
The time has come for the Underwear Revolution to cross the Digital Divide. I call on all my fellow comrades-in-Hanes to put on their best briefs, slip on their favorite slippers, and march into the mall without shame, without fear, and most importantly, without pants!
The law is clearly on our side. The sign reads, "No shirt, no shoes, no service," but makes no mention of pants, shorts, skirts, or culottes. Sure, there will be some who will mock us, some who give us wedgies, and a cruel few who will openly laugh at... things. But a moment of shame is a small price to pay for an eternity of justice, assuming "justice" can be broadly applied to the pursuit of pantless shopping.
Join me, my brothers and sisters. The Underwear Revolution will not be televised! Except maybe on Fox; they love that kind of garbage.
David Roos is the Web producer of TechTV.com's Entertainment Zone, "Silicon Spin," and "Big Thinkers." You're picturing him in his underwear, aren't you? Please stop. His column appears every Friday.
