I often wear my thickest cloth diapers and my noisiest plastic pants when I go out in public. No one notices, but I love the feeling. They also protect me properly during times of maximal diurnal urinary incontinence. I've had fancy newfangled disposables fail me completely in public, and certainly I find wet pants far more embarrassing (and inappropriate) than soaking wet diapers under dry pants.
The secrecy of wearing thick (yet still hardly noticeable) diapers in public does appeal, as does the subtle revelation to both cognoscenti and the previously unaware alike. Not the ice-breaker one might wish it were, and certainly neither a statement nor any sort of full-on exhibitionistic display; just a reality borne of utilitarian need, playful self-indulgence, and wishful thinking -- a silent, confident proclamation-in-action of diapered pride. I'm always an adult toddler diaperboy, whether I act that way overtly (only in private, and only with a Mommy, and so exceedingly rarely in anyone's company) or whether I'm acting all grown-up, and so wearing these diapers is not so much a celebration as it is a confirmation of who I am. I'm always in diapers.
Even if I wear fairly snug-fitting pants, such as pinwale cords, my thick, bulky, big-baby diapers remain only subtly visible. Preaching to the choir, I suppose. But of course the dream is that a Mommy will notice my diapers and somehow telegraph to me that she sees them, with a knowing wink, and that she sees me for who I really am, and that she will make some gentle overture to me, so we may converse and be off to the races. Of course that never happens, for dreams exist in their own domain, and rarely come true in this world. And so I toddle home, back to privacy, where thick diapers somehow lose some of their luster and allure because there is no chance of their (or my) being noticed by the right sort of viewer. But still I dig them nonetheless.