New York, 1964: I have just descended concrete steps into a clammy hole in the ground with my Grandma Bernie for my first subway ride. Born Basya Shapiro in 1905 in a Russian shtetl near the Neva River she was the last of her family to be born in Russia, landing at Ellis Island in her mother’s arms. She holds my hand tightly as we push into the crowded car which had just roared into view with an unholy squeal. “Hold on to the pole, Nettie!”
In a couple of days I am flying off to Spain, my luggage filled with a pair of good walking shoes, sandals, a few skirts, dresses, and tops and my head filled with questions about the current state lingerie industry and ways I might improve and strengthen Jenette Bras. This yearly excursion is to attend the Empreinte Circle, a weekend of learning (and a lot of eating and drinking!) with a tight-knit group of independent lingerie boutique owners from around the world which was
Hurricane in Florida, earthquake in Turkey, cyclone in Myanmar, wildfires from Maui to Greece. These days the world seems tethered by threads, fraying and snapping with each storm or strike or economic pendulum swing. In good times these frail connections may go unremarked, but it is at our peril that we ignore the way our small individual actions re-weave the netting of the world.
I have a very good friend named Terri who ran a small bra fitting shop on Maui.
In 2011 I had the idea to write a newsletter, named it the Underwire Quarterly, and promptly sent out the premiere issue – which also turned out to be its last.
January of 2020, I decided to give it another go. I re-named it the Underwire Monthly, figuring that I operated better under pressure. It seems to have worked, as I close in on four years’ worth of musing, and without fail, as the month draws to a close, I stress about finding something of
Ah, the ceaseless hunt for the elusive Unicorn Bra! She is a creature not of this world, who occupies our thoughts and taunts us mercilessly on Instagram. Through her magical powers she is able to defy gravity and corporeal physics, lifting the bosom without squeezing the torso, separating the breasts and making them smaller too, leaving no indent anywhere. Strapless, backless, sideless, plunging, covering the nipples, invisible under any fabric, matched to every outfit, and turns
I am the product of a mixed marriage, by which I mean my father was a Jew from the South Bronx and my mother was a Jew from the Deep South. More specifically, Atlanta. My mother’s family landed as immigrants from the Polish/Russian border at the turn of the 20th century. They settled in Summerhill, one of Atlanta’s first neighborhoods, directly south of Downtown, where the population was mainly made up of freed slaves and Jewish immigrants.
My people set to work running corner markets,
When my brother and I were five and seven, my mother would take us on walks through the neighborhood just as the sky darkened and the inside lights came on. The timing of this was essential, because our purpose was to get a good look into the the living rooms of our Beverly Hills neighbors.
We were students of interior decoration, looking at how each family had arranged their furniture, decorated their walls, created their home. We had to look intently but quickly, so as
I’m pleased as punch to offer my clients an exclusive curated experience! In collaboration with Savage X Fenty, we have created an immersive 48-hour adventure: discover yourself on an expansive inward journey as you assemble your own bra at our weekend bra crafting retreat!
Experience the magic and sisterhood of laboring side by side (hour after hour!) with women of all ages and residency statuses. Challenge yourself to master the varied sewing
I was invited last month by the Italian Trade Agency to attend the Immagine Italia Lingerie Market in Florence as their guest. What a gruesome fate, I thought, to be flown halfway across the world and put up at a hotel in an ancient city center, surrounded by crumbling old cathedrals and cavernous municipal art collections, with nothing to eat but noodles and chianti. But, as you know, my pursuit of fine lingerie is unceasing.
Compared to the Paris show, Florence offered less of the full
