EEEWWWWWW…that’s uber tacky!! The backless bra look :::shudder:::
I there were such a thing as a “standard woman”, this might be an answerable question. 
Of course I meant If there were such a thing. . .
Yeah, that sounds tacky. I was imagining something different.
BTW, where do I get myself one of these “standard women”? An off-the-rack model might be more my style than the customized models I always seem to encounter.
Comedians, all. Okay . . .
“What is the standard *that most * women use in such matters?”
Oh, you’ve got to admit that it is a funny phrase that if ripe with amusing imagery.
On the one hand, it would be so much easier (I swear that’s what explains the popularity of online dating; men’s hatred of the hunt-and-gather form of shopping, and their desire to go to a website, order a standard model, and be done with it; hey, if it works for Christmas shopping on Dec. 23 . . . .).
On the other hand . . . my McDonald’s theory is that the standard burger is likely to be the one that’s moldered under the heat lamp a bit too long or is otherwise sub-optimal; so I’ll try to order something a bit offbeat so I know it’s freshly handmade; of course, this results in eating a lot of Filets o’ fish(es). Where this analogy is taking me, I am far from sure . . . .
Yet another vote for “tacky”, I’m afraid.
In addition to geewhiz’s entirely correct comments about the camisole, I’d like to point out that objection to VPL isn’t that people can tell you’re wearing panties. It’s that that little lump breaks up the line of your leg and hip, disrupting the flow of the outfit.
I don’t know about most women, I go by the guideline that seeing the outline of my underwear is fine, but seeing details of it isn’t. Basically, if I’m wearing something thin or lightcolored, I stand fully dressed in a brightly lit bathroom right in front of the sink, so that I’m about conversation distance from my reflection. If I can see the details of my bra (color, pattern of the lace on the cups, etc.) I need to find a different shirt or a different bra. Then I turn around and do the same thing with my pants. If I can discern the color of my underpants (or the flowers or stripes on them), I need to do something different. In short, I don’t care if you know that I’m wearing underwear, but I care a whole lot if you know what kind of underwear I’m wearing.
I’d imagine that it is more the flow of your backside than the outfit…
