Can You Say Under “Where”?

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Don’t we all just focus on women’s undergarments a wee bit too much (said NO man ever!)?

We even have a special sexy name for it… lingerie!

Let’s reverse roles and try this on today… you’ve got it, men’s underwear.

It’s a topic that can spark both guffaws and groans (depending on the company, of course). But beneath the layers of boxers, briefs, and, ahem, even the occasional adventurous thong, lies a surprisingly rich history.

Yes, an important history lesson is coming your way…

Buckle up, guys (or don’t, depending on what you’re currently sporting) for a journey through time that will explain how we got from primitive hide coverings to the comfortable (and sometimes questionable) undergarments of today.

Today, I’m a coloured boxer-brief wearer (a hybrid between the 2), but I grew up a tighty whities guy who snickered when I spotted my dad in his bulky boxers. I don’t know if I’m cool or archaic!

Let’s face it, our prehistoric ancestors weren’t exactly rocking Calvin Klein. The earliest form of underwear for men, dating back a mere 7,000 years, was the loincloth.

Imagine a simple piece of cloth – animal skin, perhaps, or woven plant fibers – strategically wrapped around the waist. It wasn’t high fashion, but it offered some much-needed protection from the elements and, well, maybe a curious saber-toothed squirrel.

Fast forward a few millennia, and things get a bit more… elaborate.

Ancient Egyptians donned the schenti, a linen loincloth that draped down to the knees. The Greeks and Romans favoured the subligar, a short kilt-like garment. Imagine toga parties with undergarments – not quite the mental image we had, was it?

Egyptian Schenti

The Middle Ages brought a shift towards looser undergarments. Men traded in the loincloth for braies, essentially knee-length trousers made of linen or wool. These weren’t exactly the most comfortable things ever invented, but they offered some semblance of modesty and warmth (important for those drafty castles, I guess).

This era also saw the rise of the infamous codpiece – a padded flap attached to the front of the braies. While its purpose was supposedly practical (easier bathroom breaks!), it also became a status symbol, with wealthier men sporting increasingly elaborate codpieces that some might argue resembled… well, let’s just say… small, pointy hats for a very specific area.

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As society became more refined in the 18th century, so did underwear.

Knee-length breeches became popular, essentially tailored pants that functioned as both underwear and outerwear. Thankfully, the codpiece fell out of favour. Hallelujah!

However, a new trend emerged: stockings. Yes, men wore silk stockings for a while. Let’s just take a moment to appreciate the breeze boxers provide compared to that.

The 19th century saw a revolution in underwear.

The invention of new fabrics like cotton and the rise of ready-made clothing led to the development of more comfortable and practical undergarments. Union suits, one-piece garments that combined a shirt and long johns, were all the rage for a while. Thankfully, these eventually gave way to separate undershirts and drawers, the precursors to the boxers and briefs we know today.

The 20th Century: The Boxer Rebellion

The 20th century witnessed the rise of the two main contenders in the underwear ring: the boxer and the brief.

Boxers, loose-fitting and comfortable, became a favourite for everyday wear.

Briefs, on the other hand, offered a more streamlined silhouette and were favoured by athletes and guys seeking a more fitted look. The invention of synthetic fibers like nylon and polyester also brought new options, with some interesting – and questionable – trends like the man-thong (let’s just say it wasn’t a universal hit).

And that lands us where we are now… today, men’s underwear is all about comfort and functionality. There’s a huge array of styles and fabrics to choose from, from moisture-wicking materials for athletic pursuits to luxurious microfibers for everyday wear.

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And, if you’re feeling adventurous, there’s always that whole “man-thong”/”banana hammock” thing… but maybe just wear it at home, unless you’re going for a very specific kind of attention.

One thing remains constant: the need for comfortable support (like a woman’s bra) for our most precious… uh… boys.

So friends, that’s the history of men’s underwear in a nutshell!

Although, honestly, I think that the codpiece styles from the Renaissance could have their own superhero movie franchise. “Codpiece Man: Defender of Dignity (and Occasional Embarrassment)” anyone?

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Summerland Spring – A Love Poem

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Spring!

My very favourite season… yellows, reds, pinks… colour bursting in all directions… new buds, new baby birds… temperatures mild enough that I can prune and dig and plant to my heart’s content without dripping buckets of sweat the way I do in summer.

As dawn cracks open the horizon, the sun splatters the eastern canvas with fiery oranges, and blushing pinks.

Early in the morning, I hear the local orchardists rummaging through the rows of fruit trees that stand sentinel, their bare branches pregnant with the promise of blossoming futures. They wander their acres, sometimes on foot, sometimes by tractor, assessing and planning and dreaming of their future harvest in a few months that pass quickly like a dandelion seed adrift in the breeze.

Having written these Man On The Fringe posts for a dozen years, I’ve probably composed a missive about spring at least every second year, such is the specialness it inspires in me.

It’s a front-row seat to the charming dance of nature that unfolds here, year after year, a performance that leaves me breathless, yet overflowing with energy all at the same time.

It’s at this magic moment that an “non-believer” like myself feels the strongest pull towards a transcendant, mystical presence that defies explanation. My sense of spirituality rises to its peak.

The days are longer, the air is sweet.

This is a love poem to an Okanagan spring, to the days that stretch languorously long, and to the blossoming of life in all its plant and animal forms.

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SUMMERLAND SPRING

In Okanagan’s cradle, sloping mountains hold the sky,
Spring pirouettes, a vision, with a mischievous eye.
A crown of apple blossoms adorns her windswept hair,
As sunlight paints the valley, a canvas sweet and fair.

She waltzes through the orchards, where branches sway in time,
A chorus of pear and cherry trees, in a sweet, melodic chime.
Her laughter, a sunny gentle breeze, whispers secrets in the leaves,
A promise of harvest bounty, the valley’s heart believes.

With each twirl, a vibrant petal paints the waking ground,
A tapestry of colour, where dreams come to surround.
Honeybees, her busy troupe, flit on joyful wings,
Carrying stories on the wind, of the life that Springtime brings.

Vineyards stretch forth, green arms to greet the sun,
Awakening from slumber, the dance that’s just begun.
And grapes, like emeralds nestled, swell in clusters tight,
Transformed by summer’s touch, to wines of pure delight.

By the lake, a mirrored canvas, reflect cerulean blue,
The symphony of Spring unfolds, a masterpiece anew.
From mountain peaks to valleys, a vibrant, verdant stage,
Where life awakens, reborn, on history’s weathered page.

We call this hamlet Summerland, where hope and beauty meet,
And celebrate the dancer’s grace, with springtime at her feet.
For in this valley’s embrace, where magic takes its flight,
Spring’s adventurous rhythm dances sweetly to the light.

Sizzle and Seduction… A Man’s Guide to Culinary Charm

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I love cooking.

Does this make me less “manly”? I think not!

Remember the days when the kitchen was considered a forbidden fortress for men? Try watching a rerun of Mad Men for a review.

OK, I get it… in some households, this vestige still, sadly, remains.

Honestly though, those days are as outdated as a rotary phone or a jellied aspic (YUCK!).

A man’s need to eat is as great as a woman or a child… if masturbation is a solo activity for the pleasure and needs of one, why isn’t cooking a necessary one-man attribute? Gotcha, let’s leave that analogy behind.

In the past 50 years, the culinary landscape has transformed faster than Gordon Ramsay’s temper during a cooking competition.

Let’s take a deep dish dive into the evolution of men transitioning from burnt-toast warriors to culinary maestros.

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The Emergence of the Apron Hero

Once upon a time…

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Scene: A man stands in the kitchen, apron tied tightly around his waist, sweat dripping down his forehead. His mission? To make scrambled eggs without setting off the smoke alarm.

Narrator (in a dramatic voice): “In a world where men feared the spatula, one brave soul dared to whisk. His name? Sauté Samurai. Armed with a wooden spoon and a secret recipe, he battled raw chicken and overcooked pasta. His motto? ‘Real men sauté kale.’”

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Fast-forward to today…

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Scene: The same man, now seasoned (pun intended), effortlessly flips a pancake while musing on the latest episode of “Top Chef.”

Narrator (with a wink): “Sauté Samurai has evolved. He’s no longer afraid to admit that he binge-watches cooking shows. His superpower? Umami Uprising. He combines Sriracha with maple syrup and calls it ‘Srirachle Syrup.’ It’s a hit at brunch!”

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The Rise of the Spice Warriors

Back in the day…

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Scene: A man gingerly sprinkles salt on his boiled potatoes. His wife raises an eyebrow.

Man: “I’m adding flavour, dear.”

Wife: “That’s not flavour, that’s a cry for help.”

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Today’s spice warriors…

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Scene: A group of men huddle around the grill, armed with exotic spices and marinades.

Spice Warrior #1: “Behold, my secret weapon: smoked paprika!”

Spice Warrior #2: “I’ve got chipotle powder. It’s like a flavour explosion in your mouth!”

Spice Warrior #3 (whispers): “I smuggled saffron from the Middle East. Don’t tell the neighbours.”

Narrator: “These men don’t just season; they orchestrate symphonies of taste. Their BBQ rubs could make a masseuse weep.”

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The Kitchen Gadgets Revolution

Back then…

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Scene: A man struggles with a manual can opener. Sweat drips into the tin of beans.

Man: “I’ll conquer this can if it’s the last thing I do!”

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Nowadays…

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Scene: The same man, now surrounded by high-tech gadgets, operates a sous-vide machine.

Man (with a James Bond accent): “Shaken, not stirred. My steak, that is.”

Narrator: “Men have embraced kitchen tech like a long-lost sibling. From air fryers to Instant Pots, they’re like kids in a candy store. And yes, they still play with their food.”

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The Macho Menu

Back in the Stone Age…

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Scene: A man grunts as he gnaws on a raw mammoth leg.

Man: “Meat good. Fire hot.”

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Today’s macho menu…

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Scene: A man plates a delicate quinoa salad with edible flowers.

Man (wiping away a tear): “This kale is life-changing. And the microgreens? They whisper sweet nothings to my soul.”

Narrator: “Gone are the days of caveman grunts. Today’s men discuss umami, plating techniques, and whether cilantro tastes like soap. They’re the true food philosophers.”

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The New Recipe for Masculinity

So, let’s raise our spatulas to the modern man in the kitchen. He’s not just flipping pancakes or BBQ burgers; he’s flipping stereotypes.

Whether a grill guru, a spice sorcerer, or a gadget geek, he’s rewriting the recipe for masculinity… one laugh, one sautéed kale leaf at a time.

And remember, guys, real men don’t cry over spilled milk… they turn it into a béchamel sauce.

Bon appétit!

That’s Why God Created Handymen

Welcome to another fun guest post by our favourite Canadian who lives “down under” in the good ole USA, Jim Ferguson.

Today, Jim takes off his trusty and comfortable lab coat and regretfully slides into a contraption perplexingly called “Verktygsmästare Bälte”—a sturdy and efficient tool belt designed for today’s modern handyman. Comes with pockets for hammers, Allen wrenches, and even a tiny meatball compartment to keep Jim nourished and resistant to losing his cool.

So… build us a blog Jim (no instructions included)…

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Are you as sick and tired of do-it-yourself furniture assembly as I am?

Are you a fan, or have you, like me, come to loathe the arrival of such kits at your doorstep?

Have you developed some backbone and said to your spouse, SO, “You ordered it, you assemble it?”

If I NEVER see another “some assembly required” notice I will be a happy camper. I am sick, sick, sick of ordering home assembly furniture from IKEA, Wayfair, or whatever company is selling home assembly, do-it-yourself furniture kits.

I’m ready to go to Sweden and organize a sit in at the IKEA home office and tell them that if they EVER receive another order from Deborah Ferguson in Port Huron, Michigan, to immediately file it in the “circular file” and pretend they’ve never heard of the Fergusons. 

Ok… let’s unpack this little phobia I have.

The other day I received two heavy boxes both containing office desks for our home office. My wife, Deb, was so excited that the desks finally arrived. Meanwhile, I am sitting there thinking to myself, “If I call now, just maybe I could get a colonoscopy followed by a couple of teeth pulled this afternoon” so I could avoid the hassle of putting one of these desks together.

Well… the colonoscopy and dental extraction plan failed so there I was reaching for the box. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad. Right! After all… it’s just a desk. How hard could it be? 

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I carefully open the box and begin to remove part after part after part of the desk followed by the hardware including those useless Allen wrenches that rip my hands to shreds and cause more knuckle bruises and scrapes than I care to discuss.

Then… there is the instruction MANUAL. As soon as I saw that this was not a “one sheeter” with simple instructions but rather a manual… I knew I was in for it!

Twenty languages later, I finally find the English section of the manual and my heart starts pounding harder, my chest feels a bit heavy, my respirations become rapid and shallow, I become slightly nauseated, my hands are a little sweaty and I am thinking “ok… a heart attack could get me out of this assembly project”, but alas my symptoms quickly subside, and I realize there is no way out of my dilemma. I am stuck with this project…like it or not.

I go down the “I am a medical provider not a frickin handyman” pathway but to no avail. I reason that if the desk had a pair of lungs, a heart, a prostate, a sprain, or strain, I just might be able to deal with it. I remind myself that God created handymen for a reason so why not rely on one to assemble the desk.

Deb lovingly looks my way and states, “Come on honey. You are my own Bob Vila! I know you can do it.” Anyways… after a few minutes of faulty reasoning I give in and begin the daunting task.

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One thing I know for sure: I am no Bob Vila when it comes to handyman talents.

I knew I was in trouble when I noticed that there were no written instructions… only drawings possibly done by a 2nd grader.

I am looking at the drawings trying to figure out what side the screws are supposed to fit in. And then there were those screw-in posts with the locking pieces that are supposed to grab the posts and bring the wood pieces together and lock them tight. Each desk piece is labeled in the diagram with a letter but the actual pieces of wood in the box are NOT lettered.

I will have to assemble this desk using good old Canadian ingenuity. I will look at the pieces and meditate for a while listening to some calming Lakota flute or Tibetan Sound Bowl music and then see which ones intuitively fit together. I got this! I may suck at following iffy directions, but I am a whiz at looking at a puzzle and intuiting how the pieces go together…😊 FOUR HOURS LATER the desk is constructed.

I look at my masterpiece and suddenly a wave of nausea sweeps over me as I notice one piece of wood upside down.

I had erred installing one smaller piece but by the time I realized my mistake I was like “There is NO WAY I’m taking this desk apart to flip that one piece of wood the other way!” Maybe Deb won’t notice it.

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Guess what! As soon as Deb saw the desk her eyes are drawn immediately to that one piece of wood and she states, “Hmmm… I think that piece isn’t in right.”

After convincing her that it is not a vital piece of the desk we agree that we’ll leave it as is and by this time Deb is so desperate to have a functioning desk, she wants this first “trial run” edition.

Note to self: when I construct my desk, probably sometime in 2026 as it will take me a year or two to recover from this harrowing experience and muster up the nerve to try it again, make sure NOT to install that one piece of wood in reverse…😊

Red Green up at Possum Lodge would be so disappointed in me.

His favourite saying is, “Well…if the women don’t find you handsome, at least let them find you handy.” Now don’t get me wrong…I am about as good looking or better looking as the next guy. Our Supreme Blog-Meister Larry will attest to that.

However, I am definitely lacking in the handyman skill set. It is a gene I simply do not possess.

So, I will continue to look for ways out of future furniture home assembly projects. In fact, Deb is upstairs assembling a bookshelf as I type this MOTF blog contribution, and I am downstairs being as quiet as a church mouse hoping she doesn’t call me up to help.

Actually… she told me I had a “stay of execution” from this project as it is straight forward, and she has completed similar projects before without too much aggravation. Yay!

Well… here’s hoping you have better handyman experiences than I do.

Keep your tool belts tight around your waist and your hammer easily accessible.

Peace,

Jim