Uncover Your Secret Strength

Girls do not dress for boys. They dress for themselves,

and of course, each other. If girls dressed for boys,

they’d just always walk around naked.

—Betsy Johnson

My granddaughter Zoë, just two and recently potty trained, started to hop around at the mall as if she was dancing on a bed of hot coals. I took this as a sign that she had to go, so I whisked her into the nearest public washroom. She made it. Yay!

I praised her, told her how proud I was of her, that she was a big girl now and didn’t need to wear pull-ups anymore. With a huge smile on her face, and with a clear sense of accomplishment, she became quite animated as she told me she had lots of nice panties, and her favorites are her purple Dora panties.

Now, we all know it’s common to talk pee-pee and poo-poo in public with young children. So, it wasn’t surprising that at exactly the moment we were leaving the washroom, at exactly the moment we were walking past a line-up at the check-out, in all innocence she used her outside voice and asked:

“What color are your panties, Grandma?”

Everyone chuckled. I blushed and made certain I didn’t make eye contact with anyone. I leaned over and whispered to her sweet little face, “My red ones, honey, and please use your inside voice.”

Some days I wear my Bridget Jones proper panties. Other days call for my power panties. Not those provocative wisps we think we should wear for our partner—but those we wear for ourselves to celebrate growing out of girlhood and into womanhood.

Let me tell you about mine.

After my second divorce, my confidence and self-esteem were suffering. I felt fractured. I had always loved red, but at that time in my life I wasn’t emotionally ready to own the power that red represents—strength, courage, passion, visibility. Red felt like too much. I didn’t feel powerful, or brave, or bold enough to carry it.

But I had a little secret. Whenever I needed a psychological boost, I would wear a pair of red panties.

Not outside my clothes like a superhero, but underneath—my hidden armor. My red (not-so-tiny)knickers became my secret strength. Wearing them made me feel invincible.

It’s no wonder, really. Red is the first color a baby can see, and across cultures it has always carried weight—symbolizing everything from joy, luck, and prosperity to mourning and defiance. One can’t help but notice red.

For me, it became more than a color. It became a lifeline back to me. As I began to stand taller, I started weaving red into the rest of my life: first nail polish, then handbags and shoes, and eventually clothing. Each step was like reclaiming a piece of myself. Red became my confidence booster, my reminder that I could be vibrant and full of life again.

That little episode with Zoë reminded me that maybe my panties weren’t as pretty as they once were. Since then, I’ve ruthlessly sorted through my pile of unmentionables and tossed anything that had lost its shape, looked worn, or had simply outlived its purpose.

On the days when I need to be braver, I still reach for my red reminders. After all, even a little girl knows—it feels nice to wear pretty panties.