Tales of Pants
Hey gang!
Sorry about the lack of updates. I have temporarily moved my central command from the Big Easy to the Cool North East. Consequently my continuous Internet access has been severely curtailed by the logjams and SNAFUS brought about by relocating my passion.
But enough of my heartfelt apologies. I write this blog to tell the masses of the delicate interplay between my active processes (i.e. the causal forces stemming from my essence) and the passions imposed upon me by the entirety of the natural world. Yes my friends, I am writing today about my recent purchase of pants.
Buying clothes, getting a haircut, and engaging in good grooming habits is quite complicated for me. In many ways I am a vain man. I want to look good. I want the ladies to want to get with me, and the guys to want to be me. I am a vain man.
I also am very critical of the concept of fashion, and I hate the appearance of vanity. I see some dude in a pink shirt and popped collar and I think, “What an asshole!” I see some guy in anything non-functional that was selected because it looks good and I want to say, “hey, grow some testicles buddy!” You see the problem. My vanity is centered upon my seeming superiority to fashion. I want to mock those who mock trends. I want to be above it all. Yet, despite my desire to ascend to the heights of asexual detachment, I still have to put on a pair of pants in the morning.
Back in the day I had a girlfriend (now an ex) who mocked my pants. She thought I would look better if I had more current pants without pleats. I protested that she wanted to make me look like a backstreet boy. She bought me some cool pants as a gift and after some deep soul searching I found I could maintain my “straight as an arrow” sexuality while wearing these cool pants. They soon became the workhorse of my pant collection.
Most of my pants enter my consciousness in this way. My mom, my sister, my girlfriend, will eventually decide that I look stupid and try to upgrade my fashion. I usually refuse to shop with them. On the rare occasions when I do enter a clothing store with them I tend to become hostile to them and to the salesclerks. We usually leave quickly with my sisters and mom slightly embarrassed and with me holding a pair of poorly fitted jeans.
I hate shopping for clothes. I don’t know anything about clothes. I don’t know what a pair of pants is supposed to cost, I don’t know how it is supposed to fit, and I don’t know what I am supposed to “like” when someone asks me if I like a pair. I just want to be able to leave the store with a pair of pants that will make me look attractive without looking like a pretty boy.
This is where the girlfriend’s come in. It is they who force me into the current decade of fashion. For example, I now sport a pair of modest side-burns. Back in the army I had the same hair-do I have now: a shaved head. The ladies kept saying I would look better with sideburns. I thought side-burns were a sign of non-homosexual gayness, on account of how all the guys in 90210 had sideburns. I hadn’t noticed that 10 years had past since Newsweek noted the trend. I looked around and found that manly men had indeed taken up the style and that I could sport the ‘burns without being compared to a T.V. show actor. I grew in the side-burns, and every girl who had seen the before and after image commented on how I looked better with burns. The women know.
Last week I went shopping with my lady and some dear friends of mine. I needed some jeans. The jeans these days are flared! I tried on bell bottoms! I felt like a twat! But, the ladies preferred the funky fresh look of bell bottoms to my straight fitting Ranglers. I was aghast! Then I notice that the male in my shopping gang was wearing bell bottoms. So was this other dude in the store. Pants with flare! Many of my friends wore flared pants. Many indeed. I bought the pants the women recommended. I have bell bottoms in my wardrobe now.
Part of me feels like a sell out. As a child I thought the Brady bunch wore stupid pants. Now I wear those very pants. I am getting used to them. A great circle of life. Newton dressed like a fop, and Spinoza wore Dutch collars. The professor of Passion can wear bells.
Sorry about the lack of updates. I have temporarily moved my central command from the Big Easy to the Cool North East. Consequently my continuous Internet access has been severely curtailed by the logjams and SNAFUS brought about by relocating my passion.
But enough of my heartfelt apologies. I write this blog to tell the masses of the delicate interplay between my active processes (i.e. the causal forces stemming from my essence) and the passions imposed upon me by the entirety of the natural world. Yes my friends, I am writing today about my recent purchase of pants.
Buying clothes, getting a haircut, and engaging in good grooming habits is quite complicated for me. In many ways I am a vain man. I want to look good. I want the ladies to want to get with me, and the guys to want to be me. I am a vain man.
I also am very critical of the concept of fashion, and I hate the appearance of vanity. I see some dude in a pink shirt and popped collar and I think, “What an asshole!” I see some guy in anything non-functional that was selected because it looks good and I want to say, “hey, grow some testicles buddy!” You see the problem. My vanity is centered upon my seeming superiority to fashion. I want to mock those who mock trends. I want to be above it all. Yet, despite my desire to ascend to the heights of asexual detachment, I still have to put on a pair of pants in the morning.
Back in the day I had a girlfriend (now an ex) who mocked my pants. She thought I would look better if I had more current pants without pleats. I protested that she wanted to make me look like a backstreet boy. She bought me some cool pants as a gift and after some deep soul searching I found I could maintain my “straight as an arrow” sexuality while wearing these cool pants. They soon became the workhorse of my pant collection.
Most of my pants enter my consciousness in this way. My mom, my sister, my girlfriend, will eventually decide that I look stupid and try to upgrade my fashion. I usually refuse to shop with them. On the rare occasions when I do enter a clothing store with them I tend to become hostile to them and to the salesclerks. We usually leave quickly with my sisters and mom slightly embarrassed and with me holding a pair of poorly fitted jeans.
I hate shopping for clothes. I don’t know anything about clothes. I don’t know what a pair of pants is supposed to cost, I don’t know how it is supposed to fit, and I don’t know what I am supposed to “like” when someone asks me if I like a pair. I just want to be able to leave the store with a pair of pants that will make me look attractive without looking like a pretty boy.
This is where the girlfriend’s come in. It is they who force me into the current decade of fashion. For example, I now sport a pair of modest side-burns. Back in the army I had the same hair-do I have now: a shaved head. The ladies kept saying I would look better with sideburns. I thought side-burns were a sign of non-homosexual gayness, on account of how all the guys in 90210 had sideburns. I hadn’t noticed that 10 years had past since Newsweek noted the trend. I looked around and found that manly men had indeed taken up the style and that I could sport the ‘burns without being compared to a T.V. show actor. I grew in the side-burns, and every girl who had seen the before and after image commented on how I looked better with burns. The women know.
Last week I went shopping with my lady and some dear friends of mine. I needed some jeans. The jeans these days are flared! I tried on bell bottoms! I felt like a twat! But, the ladies preferred the funky fresh look of bell bottoms to my straight fitting Ranglers. I was aghast! Then I notice that the male in my shopping gang was wearing bell bottoms. So was this other dude in the store. Pants with flare! Many of my friends wore flared pants. Many indeed. I bought the pants the women recommended. I have bell bottoms in my wardrobe now.
Part of me feels like a sell out. As a child I thought the Brady bunch wore stupid pants. Now I wear those very pants. I am getting used to them. A great circle of life. Newton dressed like a fop, and Spinoza wore Dutch collars. The professor of Passion can wear bells.
posted by Old Stallion at 11:31 AM
3 Comments:
Pants are my nemisis. If you are a lady of certain unlikely proportions, you will never ever find pants that fit you in a store. No matter how cool your shopping gang is.
In college I would wear mens pants which, in retrospect, probably looked pretty stupid, but at least they were long enough. Men's pants make so much more sense: You figure out your waist, figure out your inseam, grab a pair of pants, leave. Women's pants have strange sizes that are inconsistant across brands. They also have low-rises everywhere and one thing this gorilla hates is low-rise pants. I like my pants to not feel like they are going to fall off and also, I don't want anyone looking at my undies.
I can't wait to see the new Professor Romance, 1973 edition, complete with bells and sideburns. It is a new era in passion, indeed.
First off, you are not wearing bells. Second, in the new X-Men movie, Cyclops is wearing your pants. If you are too cool for Mr. Scott "Slim" Summers, you are a vain man indeed.
i just returned from a memorial day to-do, where i was talking with a friend about how most guys we know take years to discover that what they consider "manly" stuff (rush, ratty clothes) will never impress the ladies as much as what most men consider "gay." so, congratulations for joining the ranks of men who know that the best judges of men's clothing are women.
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