Detroit Underwear

Tom and I went shopping on a lark several weeks ago in Fantabulous Ferndale, and found a dealer in the flea market specializing in Detroit gear, including tank tops and underwear.

I have to admit, it was kinda neat.  Technically, as a transplant (and an almost thirty-year transplant at that), I don’t have the same draw to the city and the ideal that is Detroit as Tom does.  And, to be honest, Detroit really doesn’t have that much to offer at the moment – loss of population and bankruptcy notwithstanding.  Still, it’s cool that there’s still some love in “The D,” even if it is emblazoned with, “Bitch, please … I’m from Detroit.”

When I lived in Germany, one of the shirts I had with me that always made a mark was one stating, “Detroit.  Where the weak are killed and eaten.” Very popular with the high school crowd, and since the advent of rap music (uck!), it rings true.  When our kids arrive, for example, they don’t realize that Eight Mile is real – the border between Detroit proper and the northern suburbs, as well as between Wayne and Oakland counties and the (313)/(248) area codes.  (That’s why you always hear about, “the 313.”)

Being the underwear fanatic that I am, I was excited about the prospect of having something homegrown to show, until I realized that Tom is the only person who will really see them.  Still, doesn’t matter, because I’m sure that, sooner or later, the waistband will make a debut, the pants will come off, and pictures will surface on the Internet, somewhere.  After all, if you’re gonna have down-home pride, you may as well show off your pride … you know, down home.

How ‘bout you guys?  Any home-grown underwear in your closets?

(You wouldn’t believe how much difficulty I had trying to find images of what I bought … Google “Detroit Underwear” and you get a zillion images of the guy who tried to blow up an airliner flying into Detroit with a bomb he had hidden in his underwear.)