Case of the matching knickers.

 Elle MacPherson sure knows how to make the sisterhood feel better about themselves. The supermodel and panty peddler recently boasted she can still fit into her frocks from the 80s. Worse, she’s declared that women shouldn’t go out wearing mismatched bras and knickers. “You wouldn’t walk around with one blue sock and one red sock, would you?” she says. “If I’m wearing a bra that doesn’t match the knickers, I feel like I’m walking with a limp. It just doesn’t feel right.”

 While Elle may have time to linger over her lingerie, in my house, it’s challenging enough just to find pants on the laundry rack, which has become a permanent sculpture in the spare bedroom. What I don’t get about matching sets is this: I thought they were for hookers, newlyweds and the annual wedding anniversary.

 Not according to Elle. She even recommends washing the bra and knickers together so the set’s never split. Don’t get me wrong, I love Elle. No one rocks a pair of aviator sunnies like her and I’ve collected armloads of bangles in a hapless attempt to pull off her boho beach babe-look (apparently you also need the hair, legs and tan). But the matching thing is either a shameless attempt to sell more of her smalls or an example of her control freak tendencies.

 There’s no denying matching lingerie looks good, and maybe even feels good, but it’s rarely achievable. The average woman owns 14 pairs of knickers and seven bras, only two of which she wears on a day-to-day basis, which sends Elle’s laundering advice into a spin. Then there’s the dark pants/light top conundrum, which in my book, requires a different coloured bra and knickers.

 I asked a few guys about this and found a common response: they may date girls with matching lingerie, but they don’t marry them. “Too high maintenance,” said one. “Next thing you know, she’ll be shouting at you to get your feet off the coffee table.” And therein lays the point: perfection is lovely to look at, but hell to achieve.

 It also tends to make us feel uncomfortable because, at heart, we warm to imperfections and vulnerabilities in others. I often find myself in other people’s houses, where I can almost smell the stress of perfection. They look like a homewares showroom when, in reality, it’s books on shelves and children’s artworks on the fridge that tell the story.

 But matching lingerie? A friend of mine tried it once. She dug out an aqua bra that’s never quite fitted and its corresponding knickers. She told me she felt wonderfully organised and superior. But by the afternoon, the underlying order only highlighted the chaos in the rest of her life. That evening as she stripped off, her husband raised an eyebrow at her ensemble: “Either all your normal underwear’s in the laundry or you’re having an affair.”