Jockey International Inc. has documented that the first pair of its men’s brief-style underpants was sold at Marshall Field &Co. in Chicago on Jan. 19, 1935. And although it is undocumented, it’s more than likely that the first wedgie was administered later that day in the parking lot of that Marshall Field’s.
Now, in the runup to the 75th anniversary — of the brief, not the wedgie — Jockey has launched a media campaign in celebration of the tighty whitey, complete with archival photos, little-known facts and a host of contests and events, which can be found by checking out, I kid you not, Jockey’s Facebook page or Twitter feed.
You may not be the type to follow an underwear maker’s Twitter feed, but there’s a 25 percent chance you, or the guy in the cubicle next to you, wears the brief.
Jockey cites a December 2008 report from NPD that says one in four pairs of men’s underwear purchased today is a brief. (I don’t see a lot of men in their skivvies these days, but I would have actually pegged that percentage as a bit higher.)
Some of the other interesting facts gleaned from Tuesday’s media blitz:
The name has nothing to do with horse racing; the garment was named the Jockey Brief on account of its jock-strap-like “functional benefits.”
At one point sales were so brisk that an airplane, christened “the Masculiner” (which I’m guessing would so not fly these days), was used to make deliveries around the country.
The Kenosha, Wis., company, once known as Coopers Inc., officially changed its name to Jockey in 1971.
In 1963, the company created astronaut undies for the Apollo program that included elastic bands on the cuffs designed to loop around the astronauts’ palms and prevent a zero gravity wardrobe malfunction.
But the brief has resonance beyond its place in the pantheon of underpants — it seems to be some sort of litmus test. Why else would a student ask Bill Clinton “boxers or briefs?” in a 1992 MTV interview? (It was boxers.) Perhaps it’s just part of wanting to know if the famous and powerful are like us underneath.
Which brings me to perhaps the most memorable ad campaign of my childhood — baseball player Jim Palmer, circa 1976, staring out from a magazine (it was either a two-page ad or I was much smaller then).
The future Baltimore Orioles Hall of Famer reclines on bended elbow, with perfectly feathered hair and a gleaming pair of hand weights. He wears nothing more than a pair of striped Jockey shorts and a wan smile.
I don’t think I’ve donned a pair of briefs — or picked up a hand weight — since.
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