If there’s anything we love more than a brand-new, fresh pair of underpants, it’s a brand-new, fresh pair of socks.
You know what we’re talkin’ about: The unstretched elastic, the virgin cotton, the unblemished perfection of crisp patterns and unwavering seams. Soon, those underpants and socks will be swapping stories with your bum and feet, but in the moments right after you remove them from their pristine packaging, their purity is unmatched by that of any other consumer good.
Or perhaps that purity is only so notable because of its stark contrast with undies and socks in their fallen state: stretched out, hole-ridden, besmirched by the foulest substances the human body is capable of producing.
This contrast, this purity, this love of clean underthings — this, sweet readers, is why we want to tell you about MeUndies. Not because it is Friday and we are feeling sassy, nay. Because we know that you, too, must surely love brand-new, fresh underpants and socks as much as we do.
MeUndies launched last year as a subscription underpants service from Science, the L.A.-based incubator that will come up with any Internet-fueled mechanism possible to separate you from your money. Science already has a few subscription clothing services in its portfolio.
While MeUndies started out as just underpants — one pair per month for around $16, great for rotating out the oldsters in your top drawer — it has today branched out into T-shirts and socks. From its new homepage, you can now select subscriptions for unisex socks for $8 with a subscription and $20 “super soft, slim-fit” tees (men’s or women’s sizes).
For now, MeUndies only does grownup styles and sizes. Its underpants lineup includes trunks, briefs, and boxer briefs for those who prefer men’s styles and briefs, thongs, and boyshorts for folks who prefer women’s styles.
From a business perspective, we can attest that subscription commerce is so hot right now for a reason: It’s seductively easy and fun for consumers. For most folks, it’s cheap enough that recurring billing doesn’t cause sticker shock. It’s kind of like the principle behind mobile app subscriptions in Japan — they bill you $2 per month for emoji, you’re delighted, and you don’t care about the price because it’s just low enough.
And if emoji apps in Japan can work their way up to glorious revenues and IPOs, subscription commerce for physical goods in the U.S. might very well be able to do the same. Think about that next time you see your saddest pair of older-than-Yoda underpants and tell us we’re wrong.
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