Little-known sex-related movie trivia: Since the 1970s the movie Last Tango in Paris has been indirectly responsible for a surprising number of minor hip and leg abrasions and pinky-finger strains. The cause? That scene where the Marlin Brando character seemingly-effortlessly rips the panties from the Maria Schneider character.

Like many other things you see in the movies that trick is harder than it looks. In case you’ve ever wanted to try it yourself or with a partner, Cumingirl of the absolutely 100%-accurately-titled blog Christian Nymphos has a completely practical tutorial.

One thing that can be really passionate in the bedroom is having your husband RIP your panties off of you just before you make love.  But sometimes the fabrics are too hard to rip and sometimes your panties are too expensive to throw away!  If you are interested in adding this spice to your bedroom, then listen up to some quick and easy tips that will make it easy for you and your husband!

First off, you need to find some sexy panties (thongs work the best but any kind will do) really cheap.  Make sure that you KNOW they will fit you well, and then buy lots of them.  I found some lacy thongs on sale one time for $1/each.  There were just tons of thongs all thrown on a large display table in the middle of the lingerie dept.  I think I bought 25 or so that day!

Now, once you get home, put a pair on and stand in front of the mirror.  Imagine that you and your husband are making out and you want him to be able to just RIP those panties off of you so that you two can make passionate love!  In order to make it easier for him (and to make sure that he doesn’t hurt you in the process) you need a pair of fingernail clippers or scissors.  A knife will work but fingernail clippers or scissors work better.

She said it here.

I adore the group of authors at Christian Nymphos because it just so head-on contradicts stereotypes about the sexuality of people with profoundly-deep faith, and about people of different abilities and ages. I admire them too because they’re so up front about finding solutions to problems facing women who’s libidos are higher than their husbands who are also very committed to the tradition of marriage. But I digress…

Anyway, I won’t say how I know this but there actually are a couple of tricks to successfully tearing someone’s undies off when they haven’t been prepared first.

The first, most important trick is being able to quickly recognize when not to do it, whether its because they’re too nice, too comfortable, too expensive, or otherwise hard to replace or just because they’re not going to tear. There are more than enough other entirely mutual-mood-enhancing ways to remove underwear so why set your heart on that one particular way, at that particular moment, when you’re not 100% sure it’s going to be 100% pleasing for both of you?

Next tip? It’s a two parter. First part? You weren’t thinking you/he would just walk over, grab the waistband and yank middle-school-wedgie style were you? Didn’t think so! No. Again I won’t say how I know this but like a lot of things related to sex, romance, and role-playing undie ripping works, um, very well indeed after considerable, passionate hugs, burning kisses, strokes, caresses, locked eyes, sultry looks, flared nostrils, and just general all-round exploration… while still mostly clothed. And yes, it takes a little multi-tasking ability but while you’re losing yourself in each other’s embraces you want to reserve enough of capacity for strategic thinking to find seams or other weak points, and, if it looks like it’s a good time, to subtly test, pre-stress, and generally loosen them. That way when the time comes you’ll know where to start and which way to tear.

Next? Again don’t ask how I know but it doesn’t really ruin the mood if you get a tear going from the elastic of a leg band that stops dead at the waistband. As with a lot of role-playing it’s the thought that counts… plus a little deftness. If you do hit an extra-strong seam or binding before the whole garment comes apart just switch to one of those other ways to slip, slide, lower, otherwise get them the rest of the way off while staying in whatever character you and your partner have been playing.

Tor of Adrift and Awake, snarking about yet another bone-headed “real Olympic events for women” articles (this one by Kate Sikora) raises a lovely point about women, men, and assumptions of mechanical ability…

“Men are bewildered by the mechanics of bra removal. The super-human trickery involved when a woman unfastens her bra and slides it out under her clothes – all without exposing flesh – would be an Olympics must-see.”

Yeah, removing a bra from under one’s clothes must involve some kind of super-human trickery. Because it confuses men! And men with their wonderful mechanical aptitude never get confused unless trickery of some sort is involved.

Well, gee. I must be missing out because when I take off my bra from under my shirt, I don’t feel super-human. I simply follow these simple steps: Unhook bra. Pull one bra strap through sleeve and over arm. Repeat with other strap. Bra is removed. Now where’s my fucking medal?

She said it here.

Yup. It’s sort of supernatural the same way men are able to dress without catching our penises in our pants zippers. In other words not at all.

Still, kind of weird to say that if men aren’t familiar with a routine practice it must be unfathomable.

Holly of The Pervocracy, in a generally positive, nuanced review, gets to the core of the problem with one section of Naomi Wolf’s long-controversial article The Porn Myth

And then the weird part.

I will never forget a visit I made to Ilana, an old friend who had become an Orthodox Jew in Jerusalem. When I saw her again, she had abandoned her jeans and T-shirts for long skirts and a head scarf. I could not get over it. Ilana has waist-length, wild and curly golden-blonde hair. “Can’t I even see your hair?” I asked, trying to find my old friend in there. “No,” she demurred quietly. “Only my husband,” she said with a calm sexual confidence, “ever gets to see my hair.” ...And I thought: Our husbands see naked women all day—in Times Square if not on the Net. Her husband never even sees another woman’s hair.

She must feel, I thought, so hot.

Or so constrained. I have — or mostly had — Orthodox friends too, and the way they hide women away isn’t sexy. I went to a Hasidic friend’s Bar Mitzvah once and all the women in the congregation had to sit behind a screen, looking politely at a goddamn white sheet as the sounds of the service sort of drifted through. Being sexier in private (if that’s even true) isn’t worth that shit. It’s humiliating. And when I’m asked to cover my hair, I don’t think it’s because my sexuality is special, it’s because my sexuality needs hiding. My very identity — which is being treated as synonymous with my sexuality — needs hiding.

FUCK THAT.

Read her quote of quote in context here.

A couple of critical points in there. First, it’s a mistake to imagine (as its too easy to do if your primary experiences are via media) that only one major religious tradition obliges women to cover themselves. Yes, there’s probably more controversy over Muslim women wearing scarves or veils but as Holly says, its an obligation in ultra-orthodox Judaism as well. And while we’re most familiar with wimples and veils on Catholic nuns and brides, Christian women of all stations in life were once expected to similarly veil themselves… and even in my paternal grandparent’s solidly American Plymouth Brethren denomination women wore (and may still wear) what I always though of as lace doilies to at least symbolically cover their hair.

The second point, though, is that upon reflection while Wolf spends most of her essay decrying the unreal expectations imposed on women by highly-sexualized imagery of women in pornography, Wolf’s glamorization of acres of swaddling veils and dresses is no less sexualizing.

Final point, of course, is that Holly has a bedrock deep understanding of the difference between sexuality and sexualization. And that she has no patience for the latter in any of its manifestations. Which she makes clear in the rest of her post, in which she largely agrees with Wolf about sexualization (vs. oh, say, largely missing sexuality) in porn.

Cool post.

Holly of The Pervocracy, trying her hand at Good-Housekeepingmocking, riffs on “18 Clues He’s Still Crazy About You”

By popular request (one person is “popular” around here), I will point out the thuddingly obvious: this Good Housekeeping article on “18 Clues He’s Still Crazy About You” is retarded. It’s jokey of course, but the jokes are only funny if you accept their basic premises as true. So hopefully they’re not very funny.

1. When you wear a T-shirt, boxers, and socks to bed, somehow he still thinks you’re cute.

“Somehow?” “Still?” Jeez. So in general, a set of really sexy lingerie just on the hanger would be sexier than an actual slightly disheveled woman?

She said it here.

Um. Yeah, t-shirt, boxers and socks to bed only somehow sexy?

See..

It’s like…

Look, first of all, you’d think that 100,000 elegantly, lucidly, and passionately articulated assertions that what you wear is not an excuse for unwanted advances or worse would have some effect. Second, though, you’d think 100,000 perfectly clear assertions about unwanted attention would translate into an understanding that it’s not a factor in wanted attention either!

Second of all, what, exactly, isn’t sexy about t-shirts, boxers, and socks? Does your (male) partner only look good to you dressed in… what? Don Draper’s business suit? Hugh Hefner’s smoking jacket? Borat’s yellow… bikini?... holster?... swimsuit thingie? But not a t-shirt, boxers, and socks? Then why not you?

And finally, the nice thing about boxers and t-shirts (if not quite socks) is unlike, say, corsets, fishnets, and push-up bras they’re actually soft, comfortable, and roomy. They feel good against our skin as well as yours. And unlike almost anything “sexy” they’re not made to be “torn off after five minutes” because they don’t get in the way! (Sounds weirdly paradoxical I know but compared to a nice pair of white bikinis or boyshorts a thong’s darn hard to slip one’s hand inside of.) And the socks? Every good lover knows a warm partner is a sexy partner. (And even bad lovers know that a partner in socks isn’t going to shock us shriveled when you slip your iceberg toes between our thighs to try and warm up.)

Anyway, “somehow” sexy? Somehow still sexy? Sorry, “less revealing” isn’t the same as “not sexy.” 10,000,000 ads in vogue not withstanding, for anyone less superficial than Prince it’s who’s wearing it (hint: you) not what you wear that matters most to your partner.