A love letter to Sam Armytage, from her underwear.

Dear Sam,

It’s been a tough 24 hours for us, I know.

After all, here we were, spending time together, enjoying one another’s company, getting comfortable. And just like that, our right to privacy was snatched away, our love for each other forever publicly bound.

A few months ago, my future was unclear. There I was, just a packet of simple cotton briefs hanging on a shelf, hoping for a better life. Hoping for something interesting, something more exciting.

And then like an angelic vision, you appeared. Just a girl, standing in front of a pair of knickers, asking them to physically embrace her.

Things started out slow between us, I know. But I liked it that way. You were feeling me out, testing the waters, seeing if I could really give you what you needed after so many years of disappointment.

We were courting one another.

Recently, though, it felt as though things were changing; we were spending more time together, getting serious.

Maybe it was just because your washing machine was broken or the unseasonably chilly weather meant you needed more, but whatever the reason, I love that you felt you could turn to me in your time of need. That you trusted I would be there waiting, ready to give you what you sought, without question or judgment.

Being outed has made me realise a few things about us, Sam.

I know I may not be the most attractive, hippest, or most brag-worthy pair of knickers that you own. I'm not patterned or covered in lace or even very expensive.

But if you let me, I'll love you and support you in a way that no g-string ever could.

I'll be there for you on those early morning starts and late nights on the couch. When all others have left your underwear drawer. When it's that time of the month and you're feeling bloated and self-conscious. When the paparazzi want to out our love and suggest it's something we should both be ashamed of.

I'll be there when more appealing twin-sets come and go; when you have no choice but to cast me aside in fear of a wardrobe malfunction; when you look at me and feel hurt about the headlines that have been written about us.

But no matter what, I want you to know that I support you, both literally and figuratively. And if you let me, I'll continue to do so for as long as even the smallest amount of stretch is left in my cotton weave.

Because just like Victoria has her secrets, Sam, I've got yours.

Yours in solidarity and comfort,

Your Sunday underpants.

Listen: Sam Armytage talks to Mia Freedman about life in the public eye.