Every uniform comes with a list.

Shirt. Belt. Boots. Insignia. The absence of an underwear line feels like an administrative oversight.

Do Navy SEALs go commando? I have no idea. Men who do that work have earned the right to keep their drawers classified. Still, the possibility of a pink thong under a Navy uniform feels like a minor victory for human complexity.

A jockstrap makes practical sense. Boxer briefs make sense. A pair of old-school boxers with the little head making an occasional appearance through the button fly has a case, too. The questions are free. The answers stay with the man wearing the boots.

A uniform asks something real of the person inside it. It carries work, responsibility, rank, routine. That deserves respect. The private layer remains gloriously off the record.

The paperwork says plenty about a uniform. It has wisely left this part blank.