So let’s get this out of the way: nobody likes pants*. NOBODY. Not real pants, anyways, with zippers and hooks and buttons and belts. I suppose that if you’re a guy they’re okay (guys generally have narrow hips and smaller butts relative to the rest of their bodies, and hips and butts are no friends to pants), but I’m sure most dudes still prefer joggers and sweatpants. if you’re a woman? Pfft, FOGEDDABOUTIT!
Pants are the worst thing to ever happen to the world, besides, like, Hitler and polio and war and stuff. If you’re not pulling them up, you’re tugging them down. They’re either falling off your butt or the button is pressing into your belly and leaving a mark. They’re made in every conceivable style and shape and length and crotch ratio (that’s what I call the “rise” of jeans–let’s not kid ourselves, “rise” just means “how much room do you want for your crotch?”), and yet there’s always SOMETHING wrong with them. Don’t lie–especially if you’re a woman, what’s the first thing you do when you come home after work? If you answered, “I take off my bra,” you are CORRECT! But this post isn’t about bras, it’s about pants, because it’s “P” day on the blogging challenge. So what’s the second thing you do? THAT’S RIGHT, YOU TAKE OFF YOUR PANTS! Why? Because you don’t hate yourself and it’s easier to eat cheetos when you don’t have to worry about getting orange dust all over your fucking pants.
No variation on pants for women are at all okay. Shorts are just even shittier-fitting pants that don’t cover your legs, which is the entire purpose of pants, so fuck them. Khakis are for park rangers. Slacks are just needlessly expensive pants that make your thighs and the part of your legs under your knees sweat. Bootcut pants are just bell bottoms that are too lazy to commit. Palazzo pants are only appropriate on palazzos, and, let’s be real, you’ve never been on (at?) a palazzo, so don’t get fresh. Culottes are some sort of invention by the devil. Hot pants are underwear. Jumpsuits are just torture, because it’s pants with a pre-attached top and HOW DO YOU PEE? Jeans are ubiquitous but if they were good people wouldn’t cry when they went shopping for them.
There are (and this is according to Science™, I checked) the only four pants-like items that don’t make you want to die when you wear them:
- Yoga pants/shorts
That’s it. That’s all we got. Anything else is an unnecessary sacrifice of comfort and sanity.
So my question is, WHY ARE WE WEARING ANYTHING ELSE? Is it because of SOCIETY?
Well, FUCK society, man! If we can give the middle finger up at the political establishment and throw the electoral process into chaos, we can CERTAINLY figure out how to eschew pants for the rest of the course of human civilization. I know, you’re probably thinking–but what about work? I’m a lawyer, I have to look professional! Or, I’m a news anchor, I have to appear put together! I’m a writer, I have to…well, okay, you’re probably fine. Resume eating nachos in your PJs.
I’ve given this a lot of thought, and so I’m proposing a two-tiered new System of Fashion™. One WITHOUT REAL PANTS! Interested? Well, here are the rules–they’re very simple:
- In any situation where you are doing routine shit and do not have to impress a client, family member, world leader, or judgmental child, wear yoga pants, leggings, pjs, or sweatpants, and whatever top-half covering or footwear is appropriate for your climate or workspace.
- In all other situations where you want to impress anyone–work conference, first date, meeting your prospective in-laws, presidential debate–wear an elaborate ballgown.
That’s it. Those are the rules–for both men and women, may I add.
Can you see the beauty of this? Let’s be real, the only point of wearing Real Pants is to impress your date, coworker, acquaintance or dog and show them that you own something other than stained GapBody leggings and care enough about that person to don them. Right now, between Not Real Pants and ballgowns there is a vast range of choices, from capris to slacks, to show varying degrees of Giving A Shit about how you look and what people think of you. Why not reduce the system to its logical extremes–one look for Giving A Shit, and one look for Not Giving a Shit? And if you really Give A Shit, why not go all out with a backless number with a tulle skirt?
Can you imagine how much more interesting this will make life? Can’t you see how many decisions would just be made for you by instituting this system? Let’s say you walk into your performance review with your boss wearing your “I’m trying, here!” canary-yellow ballgown with a beaded bodice, and your boss is wearing the footie onesie he slept in last night. Well, now you know it’s time to fucking get a new job, don’t you? Or say you’re at your anniversary dinner, and your husband is decked out to the nines in his midnight blue velvet sheath and you realize you couldn’t even muster up the enthusiasm to change your leggings with the hole in the crotch for your other leggings with a hole at the knee. Maybe it’s time to call up your divorce lawyer, isn’t it? And can you imagine Trump and Hillary debating this Fall, both in elaborate Marchesa (Hillary) and Ivanka Trump (Trump, and obviously it will be in gold satin with the MOST LUXURIOUS TRIMMINGS EVER, YOU WON’T EVEN BELIEVE IT) gowns?
I can sense you through the network of tubes which is the Internet–you’re feeling me! YOU GET IT. Of course, I’m not blind to the difficulties of putting this into practice. Ballgowns are expensive, and we need EVERYONE to at least have 2. So we’d need to institute a Ballgown Tax For the Provision of Ballgowns to All Citizens, which I would propose (because I’m a damned dirty socialist) be levied only against the top 1%, who already have enough ballgowns to make this work. Honestly, they should thank me, because I’m really saving them money–they can get rid of all their non-ballgown designer palazzo pants and $300 Lucky jeans and just pick up some yoga joggers from Old Navy and they’re set. Everyone wins, especially my butt.
Wow, I’m feeling really good about my proposal, so I think I’m going to go take off my pants and write some emails to Hillary, Bernie, and Obama to see if we can get this thing going. I think this is the issue that’s really going to bring the BernieBros and HillaryBots together! YOU’RE WELCOME, AMERICA.
*Yes, I am aware that people in the UK say “pants” when they mean “underwear,” and “trousers” when they mean “pants” and that this may be confusing for them. I don’t care. This is why you guys lost the Revolutionary War. Get with it.
Please let me know your thoughts on my proposal in the comments, and do share and like this post to get the No Pants Movement going.