Esther McCarthy: A comfortable pair of pants – surely it’s not too much to ask for?
Esther McCarthy. Picture: Emily Quinn
As Serena Williams hops on the shortcut-to-weight-loss drug bandwagon, I reckon it’s my turn. Not to lose weight, silly — imagine! — but to endorse the hell out of some shizzle so a company might pay me to be their brand ambassador.
You may have heard that tennis ledge Serena is the face of Ro, a company selling brands such as Zepbound (another name for Mounjaro). Some eyebrows have been raised about a sporting icon like Serena fronting these drugs.
But I’ll have to be careful about what I decide to shill. Williams has been getting some backlash, most tellingly from actor, advocate, presenter, podcaster, and owner of an awe-inspiring fringe, Jameela Jamil. (Not since Mr Spock have I beheld such fringe perfection.)
I tend to listen whenever Jameela says something. I like the way she calls out the Hollywood hypocrisies of how women are treated in the business of show. There is a no-baloney, mixed-with-kindness vibe about her that I admire.
She shared her thoughts on Instagram: “The thing I feel most uncomfortable about here is that celebrities have access to doctors most others don’t have access to.
“These ‘miracle’ weight-loss drugs come at a price.”
She went on to list all of the potential side-effects — you know, a little hair loss here, a smidge of depression there.
She was at pains to insist she was not judging Serena’s body, but rather calling for transparency, even as a flurry of commentators attempted to drive the narrative that slim Jameela shouldn’t be having a go at another woman’s body, particularly a woman of colour.
But Jameela isn’t in the judgment of fellow females business.
She said that after 20 years of warning people about the predatory diet industry, she knows what she’s talking about. “I’ll never be fully healthy. I’ll always regret what I risked to be thin.”
The only thing I’ve ever risked to be thin is a third helping of sticky toffee pudding.
All Jameela seems to be asking is for people to have the proper medical support and calling on celebrities to be upfront when they’re hawking their wares.
And transparency matters in this case, especially since Williams’ husband, Reddit co-founder Alexis Ohanian, just happens to be an investor in Ro and sits on its board.
After losing his (tee) shirt on AIB shares back when the Celtic Tiger whimpered away, the only thing my husband will invest in these days is a comfortable-looking shoe. So he’s no good to me.
It looks like I’ll have to figure this out on my own. So, after much consideration, here’s the product I feel I could endorse while keeping my head high and my ass covered: Knickers.
I don’t think that will get me in trouble with my crush, Jameela, with her smouldering eyes and her jawline as sharp as her intellect.
Because I’m not talking about some flimsy, male-gaze gauze here, gang. I’m actively seeking comfy yet cute undies that, crucially, don’t sit on the C-section scar.
There has to be a happy medium. I find they are all either too skimpy and the elastic lands right on the scar area or they are so vast and invariably come with a flower print and an in-built libido killer.
And don’t get me started on all this newfangled fabrics — silk, hemp, linen, merino wool, bamboo viscose.
Mother of Jesus, just give me cotton, and a bit of elastic so they don’t fall down. This literally happened to me while I walking the dog the other day. I was wearing a dress above the knee and every step I took, the knick-knacks slid further down.
Eventually, I had to take them off, bunch them up in one hand, hold my hemline with the other and scuttle back home commando. The breeze was nice, to be honest, but the dog’s disapproving gaze was more than I could bear.
Whatever about the dog, I definitely don’t want to be mortified when I’m with my gal pals. I was changing after a dip in the ocean recently and pulled my clothes out of my bag only for my pantaloons to flop out onto the sand.
I had to shake them out, while one of the kids yelled, “hurray! a kite!” Feck off, Gerald. I never liked you.
But surely it’s not too much to ask for: A comfortable pair of pants that don’t come up to under our tits, but don’t get swallowed by the layer of flab between the bellybutton and the scar zone either?
I’ll put my face (or any other part of my body the company may require) to that product in the morning.
So Serena can keep her miracle drugs, we just need knickers that fit.
Imagine the billions the diet industry would lose if we all felt comfortable in our skin — and our smalls.
