What turned into a quick post about my new workhorse trousers turned into a reflection about how seventeen-year old me would shake his head at such a purchase.  Upon further review, I’ve decided to put together a multi-part story on why it took me so long to finally get a nicely fitting pair of pants on my legs.  I’m hoping you’ve been through the same, dear reader.

The Evolution of My Pants, Part II: The Suit that Squeezed Me

Whenever you dig through stacks of photo albums and find yourself five, ten years ago, the first mental task seems to be determining how much you have changed.  Terrible bowl haircuts.  Anti-establishment piercings.  I’ve learned to grimace less at these pictures, commemorating a time when I was growing from boy to man.  It’s a worthwhile experience I eagerly await for my children.  At the same time, I still can’t help but take note of my stylistic follies, even now.

Mens’ fashion moves relatively slowly, but when it does, it arrives in sudden jolts.  As mentioned in Part I, part of my decision to wear girl jeans was simply because a complete lack of slim-fitting options for men.  Of course, skinny jeans are the default choice for most young men; Levi’s 514’s tapered into 511’s, which funneled into 510’s.  Thin was in.

From this sea change of taste came a consequence: slim and tight as the standard of fashion with all garments, not just denim.  Tighter shirts, tighter jackets, tighter everything.  What many men – myself included – did not recognize is that standards in clothing are not universal.  Sometimes we fail to account for good taste.  Even the most flawless style icons can befall this trap.

What turned into a quick post about my new workhorse trousers turned into a reflection about how seventeen-year old me would shake his head at such a purchase.  Upon further review, I’ve decided to put together a multi-part story on why it took me so long to finally get a nicely fitting pair of pants on my legs.  I’m hoping you’ve been through the same, dear reader.

The Evolution of My Pants, Part I: The Price of Fitting In

 If your misunderstood, angst-filled youth took place around the early 2000’s in American Suburbia, then the following statement should apply to you, or at least for my sake I hope to God it does: I’ve once owned a pair of girl’s jeans.

Such was the uniform of the early-era “Scene kid.” 80’s punk wore ripped jeans and black leather jackets, unifying a growing subculture.  2000’s hardcore threw on basketball shorts and baseball tees, allowing perfect mobility to activate the pit. But as bad luck and worse taste would have it, I chose the path of the early Scene.

A quick lesson on this “Scene.” From what I remember, in the late 90’s punk started moving towards a heavier and more complex sound, led by prototypes Refused and At the Drive-In. Once the sound inspired more bands to form, a fire caught in the hearts of the youth, who screamed and danced together in tiny venues. As a subculture, the genre was followed by a dress code, which I neither understood nor questioned. The Scene’s pieces of flair included the front mullet (regrettably detailed here), an edgy lip ring (mine lasted all of twenty-two hours before my mom threatened to kick me out of the house), and of course, those damn girl jeans.