The Basics
Welcome to Princess Imprints, you curious deviants.
All garments are worn at least twice, then run through a washer cycle before being custom-tailored to your tier (see below). Most orders feature girl-next-door cotton (pastel colors)—sometimes thong, rarely lace. After all, nothing says “Good girl was secretly asking for it" like pastel panties creamed with mischief, right?
The packaging is flavor-sealed (triple ziplocked) and more discrete than a secret agent hiding in plain sight. Otherwise, believe it: between men and dogs that box wouldn’t survive the day on the porch even in a good neighborhood—and that’s assuming the deliveryman had enough fear of job loss to set the bitch down in the first place!
Oh, the murky adventures that await! The scent, the feel, the tantalizing promise of what's been and what's to come—it's a hallucinogenic journey right back into the gooey underbelly of tween years. Think of it as a naughty time capsule, catapulting you back to that hormone-crazed time when taboo was just a dare waiting to be tea bagged and mounted. Buckle up, because this ride is anything but ordinary.
fine print
The garment choice is at the discretion of the source (see below). I’m not open to requests at this time—unless you’re going to mail me the panties yourself. And even that’s an option I’ve grown wary about. My shadow-work poetry already ruffles the feathers of so many triggered lameos—yes, even to extremes of hounding my family and employers, all to report how much of “a problematic piece of scum” I am. I don’t need mail-borne anthrax to complete the package.
Bottom line: if you’re looking for some press-play deejay who takes requests, go find a cheaper alternative. We don’t bow to every whim, and definitely not to the masses who think Taylor Swift is high art. We simply do our thing here. We dance to the rhythm of our own brand of quality madness. Capisce? If you want a jukebox, try a dive bar. If you want a masterpiece of niche artistry, welcome home to the temple of tantalizing surprises. And if you’re unsure, think of it as an exercise in expansion and letting go (which will only help at death). People in the West—restless, fidgeting, impatient; convinced they need to control every moment to find true pleasure—definitely need practice with surrendering to the present and savoring what’s served.
None of our products are guaranteed STD-free! And by purchasing you agree that I’m not liable for shit, especially not for you passing out and hitting your head after huffing too much funk. In our litigious society, you wouldn’t believe the bullshit people try to pull!
All sales are final. Once you’re in, you’re in. No turning back, folks!
how it works
First, choose a source. Using nonhuman sources became a fiasco. And the pushback from using teen sources took a great toll on me. All sources are now exclusively humans twenty years old or older!
Second, choose a tier, but only if you choose the Main Source. You get whatever fate bestows upon you if you choose any other source.
Third, choose from any of our delightful extras.
That should be simple, but still people fuck up. Why? It’s like the more I spell it all out, the more opportunity you all have to conjure up whatever interpretation you want. What the fuck!? Why am I getting hold-my-hand emails asking me how it works when I have a section—this one!—that clearly lays the shit out? I’ve kept the paragraphs short and even numbered the bitches. Three fucking steps! And yet here we are. What could be the major malfunction?
Listen. Listen, listen. Any email to me that contains that Gen-Zodiac cudgel of a phrase “Wait, I’m confused” will never receive a response. That shit might fly with your bitch-ass professor who—instead of just saying, “Read the fucking syllabus!”—forever tolerates the full spectrum of entitled disrespect, answering the already-answered questions again and again with that HR-Zoloft affect of whispery patience (as if in circus-elephant fear of being reported to some Dean for having upset “vulnerable populations”). But me? Nah, I don’t play that shit.
sources
Main Source ($50).—Funkier than the Queens rap group from the 90s, the current Main Source is a tall and curvaceous, and just utterly delectable, twenty-year-old black girl with a personality as sweet as the honey she is looking to spread. Her base scent is gamey cumin with top notes of blackcurrant, leather, tobacco, and sometimes hints of mushroom (red reishi). This wild child loves to explore the backwoods of her body through eccentric movement, and just recently has taken up Bikram Yoga. Trust me: the jean-walk of this double-XL diva can disrupt entire library floors, students and staff members alike slipping disks to spot the epicenter of swishing. Considering the darkened patches of burn on her opposing inner thighs, just imagine the curing-smoking alchemy that happens to fibers in their vicinity! (Curiosity piqued yet?) As an added bonus, she’s an absolute fiend for curry dishes. She is currently studying Italian and has this to say.
Ciao mi chiamo Liyah e di lavoro faccio l'assistente in ufficio. Da tanti anni mi occupo di vendere le mie mutandine usate. Sono molto professionale nei miei servizi. Mi alleno parecchio. Se volete sentire profumo post workaout sapete dove andrare. Vorrei tanto condividere con voi le mie speciali mutandine, indossate mentre porto i cani al parco, faccio palestra, vado in festa o chissà in quale altra attività sarò coinvolta. Mi piace divertirmi con il mio corpo. Le fragranze che mi piacciono di più da realizzare sono quello con il mio ragazzo. Adoro quella dolce carezza che mie mutandine dare quando sul divano a leggere o sui social o in dolce compagnia di un amico o amica. Adoro sapere che tu da lontano desideri annusare un pezzo di me. Provami in tutti i miei profumi! L'odore può diventare così così intenso che quando cammino per strada la a gente si gira ad annusarmi. Sarò entusiasta ed eccitata di ricevere ordini da voi, protagonisti di questo gioco perverso ed appassionante—miei favolosi porcellini!!!
Me ($50).—You can learn about me from other corners of the web page. Expect the level of imprint to be at the Ceremonial tier. I’m getting less saucy with age, but you never know what I might decide. The unexpected is all part of the fun!
Stranger female ($200).—You get whatever you get: an engorged gorlock or a petite pixie; bushy or waxed, nasty or sweet. Have low expectations and expect shipping delays. Ah, the thrill of the feminine unknowns—the universe keeping you on your toes!
Stranger Male ($250).—You get whatever you get here too, the full range of masculinity: from abscessed carneys with dubious pasts and drug-money needs to professors of medieval literature letting loose in their Trump-finger dance at the hotel bar after a stuffy conference. But seriously, have low expectations and expect shipping delays. Think of how hard it can be to get a guy to wear panties!
Stranger Nonbinary ($400).—Embrace the enigma. Now that gender chaos is all the rage, shipping delays might not be as horrendous as they once were. On the flipside, there’s more of a chance that those who claim to defy gender norms (whether as gender cocktails, gender shapeshifters, genderless, or whatever) are just social-capital-craving wannabes, passing—as black color-line crossers once did in the 1920s—for opportunistic reasons: to get a callback for a job, or to keep their careers secure, or to take advantage of sympathy induced leniency, or to enjoy a larger dating pool, or to avoid riling the censoring and deplatforming sentinels of DEI, or whatnot. But hey, if you really can smell the difference between a fake queer and real queer, stop buying used panties off the web and put that nose to good use! Get certified as a sommelier or a perfume evaluator. Become a hazardous material inspector or a forensic odorologist. Sniff out the diabetes and cancers of friends and family. Do fucking something for the good of humanity!
Star Guest ($500+).—You get whatever you get. The price depends on the star. We’re hoping for big names like Mena Carlisle and Destiny Mira at some point in the future! (As we know from Mena’s own openness on Twitter about her struggles with gonorrhea, keep in mind that all of this—no matter the source—comes with risk. Just because you swipe your credit card doesn’t mean everything is safe and sound, my friends.)
tiers
Conservative (Add $0).—Kiddy pool level. If you’re tentative about stepping in with the rest of the people in the party pool, the conservative option is best for you. Like all imprint options, the garment is worn at least twice. Remember, though, this ships already washed. (Great option for budget buyers who don’t require much titillation or are just getting their feet wet. You got to start somewhere in niche perfumery!)
Ceremonial (Add $10).—Shallow end of the adult pool where a lot of laid back fun is taking place. Before being shipped off, the source runs a quick errand or goes on a walk (or something of that sort) in the washed garment. A bit of scratching and wedgying, the quantity and quality of which is at the discretion of the source, will lock in a hint of the flavor you’ll encounter at the higher tiers. (Ideal option for face-masking and for keeping in a pocket for travel whiffs! Because, why not?)
Nine to Five (Add $20).—Welcome to the deep end! The name says it all. The washed garment is worn for the complete workday for a robust imprint. Expect a Dolly Parton blend of sweat and ambition as the source navigates the dreaded meetings and the elevator awkwardness of the caffeinated jungle, or swelters in the summer-camp sun of sexual tension fueled by the frenzy of teen-spirit hormones, or just sits there answering phones while stewing like a crockpot of coq au vin back home. (Best bang-for-your olfactory buck. Take on travel if you dare!)
Close Call (Add $30).—Here we’re not just at the deep end, but the deep end with bullies pulling you under! Expect various discharges, including some skids. Recommended for home use only.—NOTE: THIS TIER HAS BEEN DISCONTINUED FOR THE TIME BEING. The Nine to Fives of the Main Source are regularly too close to Close Calls to justify the separate tier. There is no guarantee, though, that they will always be close.—(Mr. T. Voice) Hey, boy. Hey, boy. If ya over there worried Nine to Five too weak, get yoself some Clubber LAAANNGS!
Clubber Lang (formerly: Nerd) (Add $40).—Strap on the scuba gear! The pool party has been left behind and now our nerdy selves are taking things to the alienating extreme of night swimming at sea. I pity the fool who enters these waters. Let’s just say that at this level all shame is dropped, no more worry about an accident than the toddler turning red and grunting while holding on to the side of the sofa and staring at you. (Do not take these outside of the home. Have some decency!)
Hand Me Down (price of one of the above tiers plus $30).—Our newest option has the potential to be more depraved than the Clubber Lang. The idea is as simple as it is clever. Pick one of the above tiers and the product will come not from us, but from another customer! Say, for instance, customer A bought the Clubber Lang. If you purchase the Hand Me Down version of the Clubber Lang, customer A will ship them to you after he is done. If these garments could talk, huh? (For his efforts, customer A gets a $50 store credit toward future olfactory escapades!)
extras
Massager Buzz (Add $5).—Zaps from the Magic Wand perhaps after some rips from the bong. (Main Source only, climax not guaranteed.)
Hair (Add $5).—A tactile keepsake to weave into your fantasy. (Me or Main Source only.)
Tears (Add $5).—The essence of vulnerability captured in salty pearls of emotion. (Me or Main Source only.)
Spit (Add $5).—Animal disinfectant, sign of disrespect, cheap lubrication, a mother’s makeshift wet wipe—think of it as you wish. (Specify the source as well as whether you want something more like a morning loogie.)
Spunk Blast (Add $10).—Our most popular choice, so don’t ruin it by letting me find out about some Mini-Me walking around. (Me only.)
Menstrual Blood (Add $15).—The essence of life and love, iron and passion in one. (Main Source only. Expect delayed shipping.)
Yeast (Add $15).—Lactic acid bacteria included in the swab, the elements of vagina beer. (Main Source only. Seasonal, so expect delayed shipping.)
Personalized Note (Add $5).—A poetic whisper or a humorous jibe, even the verbal equivalent of a high-heel stomp to the groin. (Me or Main Source only.)
Foot Chakra Polaroid (Add $10).—Arches like bridges to enlightenment, frozen in time; a glimpse into the secrets of balance and stability. (Me or Main Source only.)
Heart Chakra Polaroid (Add $15).—Epicenter of compassion and connection; a visual ode to the milky wonders of bonding. (Me or Main Source only.)
Root Chakra Polaroid (Add $20).—Visual gateway to the foundation of primal energy. (Me or Main Source only.)
HIIT Shot (Add $10).—Sweat, adrenaline, and the sweet taste of accomplishment after a round of burpees. (Me or Main Source only.)
Traditional Stuffing (Add $10).—Savor each morsel, for within lies the essence of home and hearth. (Main Source only. Note: this is the same move for the yeast extra.)
Backdoor Stuffing (Add $20).—Curry all day every day, often yogurt-based. (Main Source only.)
Thwamp (Add $5).—Don’t ask. All I’ll say is that I wanted to call it “Abu Ghraib.”
*SPECIAL OFFER*
Each imprint order gets you a free 2ml decant of your choice from my full bottles of fragrance. View here.
Testi-
mo[a]n-ials
Boy them shits were rank! I couldn’t even fuck with em. My cousin did. My cousin sleep with them shits. Ahahaha. He fought his mom and shit when she tried to throw them out. I mean, he really went after her with a knife. Imma get more and send it to that nigga in Pendleton. Please don’t release my name.—J., Fort Wayne, 2020
Michael Istvan was fired from his university due to unethical and unstable behavior in class. I reported him after he mocked me as a cruel “white Karen” who uses her black children for a virtue-signaling boost to sell real estate. He was fired for violating section 8 federal anti-discrimination laws (among other things). I doubt he will teach again. This man is not stable, sane, or safe. That should be clear. Look at what he puts on his website! This fucking misandrist is now more over the hill and disempowered than ever. He’s on his way to nowhere, and fast!—Erin Reichman-Jackson, Round Rock, 2021
Vendor reply.—Why you all over FetLife, cunt! Why it all about this consensual nonconsent shit? You like rape, bitch? Stop your obsession with me. You writing the same review everywhere you can: ratemyprofessor, my online publications? Stop sweating me. You mad cuz I make that pussy wet? Just let me know if I gotta fly back down to Texas and fuck that asshole up. You’ll see unsafe when I have that ass prolapsing! I’ll do that shit right in front of your kids. You only use them motherfuckers anyway for virtue signaling cuz they black.
Never thought I'd find myself writing a review for used undergarments! Here I am! From the moment I unwrapped that package, and let me tell you it was wrapped up like crazy foreplay, a shiver of delight coursed through my veins. I wish I had the words to describe. All I know is it took me back. It brought me to when I was like a kid again. Strongest erections since then. So musky. I don’t know if that is the right word, but it feels right. I feel compelled to get all technical even though I lack the language. Fecal is another. I used to have to cut the shit locks from the haunches of my collie back in the day. That sounds terrible here, but with the other elements it works. Coffee-garlic breath. Vomit too, but not in a bad way. Dark and oily. Grape and banana notes too. Middle-eastern BO from daily korma and masala. Italian restaurant dumpster. It really has it all.—James, Beacon, 2020
Ain’t promising nothing but the ones I got wasn’t just new and then used. Whoever fucked these motherfuckers up, shit that would’ve been good enough. Nah them shits saw years of work. I mean what I got is tattered and definitely “imprinted.” I’d say fucking tatted! But yeah the biggest thing is the nostalgia. It brought me back. Imma say this cause I ain’t putting my name out, but I used to jack off all over my mom duke’s back in the day. That is actually normal before you judge. I find myself with these new jams going town in each room of the house, but like somehow someone could catch me. I have that feeling, like my heart is in my throat, but for real I live by myself. So that is crazy. That is to tell you the power of scent. On some real shit, these things make me want to collect. Like but I don’t know if that is really possible cuz I already notice the scent going away on these. I want to keep these things alive. I could have sworn them shits was moving when I opened up the package, like if you look close. But now they dead. How do I keep them moving! I gotta get a vacuum sealer. Let me know if you think that’ll work.—D., Akron, 2022
Ayo, lemme tell that nigga who was asking bout the sealer. Yeah. That shit work. I rocked with these joints first few days, sealed them away and yep I’m sniffin right now and everything gravy. I do got a recommendation. Them shit definitely gonna come wet depending of what level you get. So one way you can get it back to fresh after you seal is if you add just a bit of water in there after you open. Go do something for like five minutes. When you come back, man! But when you seal again make sure them shits is dry. Ask this nigga Istvan, I copped like four joints. Thought I was his only customer till I looked here. Yo, I get the Italian dumpster! His shits hit different. Don’t know what he is doing but the shit good. No homo though. Ain’t down with no gay shit like him cumming on them shits ahahaha. Nigga Istvan, this a new day! Somebody gonna clone your ass! Stay safe. One love.—Mark, Berkeley, 2023
Latest source is crazy pissy! I hunt and it’s heavy on doe piss. Doe in heat piss. And there is that damp rot you get from forest floors long overdue for a fire. If you don’t like barnyard vibes, wait until another source or request a different source. Animalic and leathery accords plus the stated cumin gets me into pure bliss. Not everyone’s cup of tea, even the niche heads. My girlfriend, who is actually very into this sort of thing, told me to throw it out! You got problems if you are buying this. And I got big ones!—Greg, Ithaca, 2023
Like another reviewer said, these were a bit too much for me. There is a point where boundary-pushing crosses the line into the nuclear skank of skunk bodies burned in a trash barrel. Completely different note, I do like that Istvan hooked me up with a decant of one of his fragrances. I asked if he had Fahrenheit. He said that he had something better but with an even more intense gasoline feel. He sent me Portrayal Man by a middle-eastern company. Wow. Funny enough it was the faint sense of burning rubber that I get in this fragrance that I was looking for in the panties. I get burning skunk.—Ramsey, Deer Park, 2024
Yo this is C-ride from the Residuals crew! Definitely had to get a shout on here. My girl won’t let me make a purchase. But Istvan has given me whiffs of some things that will have you questioning your marriage!—C-ride, Bradenton, 2024
One love Mike. Thanks for hooking me up with these shits. Another addiction to the list, my nigga!—Duke, Yonkers, 2024
These will shake your whole damn belief system! That is no exaggeration. We are animals. We respond deeply to the senses. And the olfactory senses here get overloaded even at the basic tiers. Obviously I’m not trying to limit my own agency here, but when Cutstello let me take one of these home with me. . . . Yo, it woke me up, like a slap in the face or those ammonia tubes the crack to wake up knocked out boxers. The youtuber I had been following for all this astronomical info I realized right away was a charlatan. I wasn’t even thinking of the guy. I was just standing in my kitchen. But it hit me with one whiff: I was ignoring a pretty big red flag that this guy is opposing mainstream science with no training. He’s just a lawyer. His lawyer training allows him to do a lot of playing with words. To folks who don’t know science, he might sound smart and you go down a rabbit hole. The panties were like a supernatural Jesus arms stretching down the rabbit hole to lift you out. Dude wouldn’t even pass high school physics or astronomy. His sentences don’t make sense, and his paragraphs are a mess. There’s no real astronomy behind his words. It all just hit me when I took a whiff. One was all it took. The man is a junk scientist. No shade at lawyers but he does what he is good at: he twists scientific papers to suit an apocalyptic narrative. And whereas before I would say “Oh people don’t debate him because they are scared of being called out,” I saw instantaneously (I got to stress it, standing there in my kitchen) that he’s not worth the time of scientists and by them giving him their time they only give his junk science a platform. In American we are dumb. We believe that if a big shot bothers to debunk x, x has to be true. I’m unable to put in words how one sniff knocked sense into me. Take Terence Howard, who I was also all about before the kitchen EVENT. He would sound so deep and radical and appeal to the conspiracist heart of me when he said all this stuff about “they’ve been lying to us because obviously 1 times 1 equals 2.” But like the youtuber (who talks about micronovas in our sun when only a binary star system can have micronovas technically) he is just playing with the definitions and acting like he is getting somewhere. “1 x . . .” is just a way of saying 1 is appearing a certain number of times. So when you say “1 x 1” you are saying 1 is appearing 1 time. If 1 is appearing just 1 one time, how much do we have altogether? Easy: 1. Not 2. Lol. I mean, wherever he is getting the panties from, it’s like an instant blast of critical thinking, of needed skepticism. It might have different effects on different people. Like it could just make one turn to faith in God. I could see that. Definitely. But for me, it was to knock me out of an embarrassing path toward another stereotypical pseudoscience doomsday cult.—Space, Peekskill, 2024
Now I know there’s going to be batch variation. That is the nature of the game. But I’m suspicious I got a dupe. I have smelled these from other people and what I have doesn’t even have common DNA! I get none of the cumin. It is too different even to say that these are watered down. Where’s the black currant so noticeable every other time? Where’s that skany castoreum, that motherfucking musk. The performance sucks. It is basically, and it is obly three days after they arrives, a cloth scent. Sillage is atrocious! Part of the fun of this is the secrecy. What work do I have to do when I get these vanilla blands? Where’s the damn curried goat? I wanted ebony funk. I wanted bush meat, not more unseasoned breast meat. What that absolute hell. Is there a new creative director? The site had been down for awhile. I don’t know man? Did the source clean her act up? Speculations run in my head to try to make sense of what has gone on here? I can’t help it, but this place is not worth my time, or yours!—Anonymous, 2024
*SPECIAL OFFER*
Each imprint order gets you a free 2ml decant of your choice from my full bottles of fragrance. View here.
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FAQ
Visit my Substack: Hive Being
Visit my Substack: Hive Being
Pshh. As if love had anything to do with the understanding! The things that we love in a young lady are something very different from the understanding. We love in her beauty, youthfulness, playfulness, trustingness, her character, her faults, her caprices, and God knows what je ne sais quoi besides; but we do not love her understanding. We respect her understanding when it is brilliant, and by it the worth of a girl can be infinitely enhanced in our eyes. Understanding may also serve to fix our affections when we already love; but the understanding is not that which is capable of firing our hearts, and awakening a passion.—Goethe (Conversations with Eckermann)
