I want to repants the world
We live in a society that doesn’t understand pants.
Yeah, you heard me.
You’re probably reading this and thinking, “I don’t know what Sarah is talking about. She must have written this article for the other dummies on Medium, not me. I totally understand pants. Pants are two tubes sew together at the top. I can stick my legs through them and cinch them at the waist and they keep everyone from knowing what color of underoos I decided to wear today.”
My friend, no.
I see you sitting there in the thrice-stained JNCO jeans that were “all that” in the heyday of your youth, esp when worn with a chain around the waist and the casual optimism of someone with no clue what the future would hold.
My friend, those pants are not bananas.
But, even if you are wearing the standard mom jeans that are so on brand for kids these days, you’re still missing out.
Because you don’t understand what the pant can be, the innate potential within every pair, the striving that can be summed up through the taking off one pair of pants and putting on of another, more suitable pair of pants.
People see a pair of pants and see only a utilitarian item meant to be overshadowed by literally every other piece of clothing. Pants can be more. Pants can mean so much more.
Sometimes when I’m at the airport and early for my flight, I like to buy a coffee and sip it as I watch all the pants walk past me. It’s a parade of ambition stifled, a promenade of mediocracy and shame.
- Here a pair of pleated khakis belted too tight, the inseam too short, revealing a pair of black socks and sneakers.
- Over there a pair of faded pink leggings worn thin in the buttocks region, revealing a pair of Wednesday printed underpants (when it isn’t even Wednesday!).
- And across the room a chicken without the common sense to select a tapered leg.
It’s enough to make me weep, to make me want to throw in the towel, toss out the beans, give up the ghost, and uproot all my vegetables. God did not dictate that we should be a collection of sad, panted clowns. No, we did that to ourselves.
So, since people clearly cannot be counted upon to pants themselves, I must step forward and do it.
Some people’s lives have meaning. They feed the hungry and comfort the hopeless.
I repants the the clueless.
It’s not much, but it’s all I have.
So, next time you’re browsing the aisles of the nearest department store staring at racks of pants that make you want to settle, consider the following option. They’ve worked great for various humans throughout history and they can work great for you.
You ready? Here it comes!
Bloomers have a long and noble history and for some reason no one wants to be caught dead wearing them. Why is everyone in the world stupid? Bring back the bloomer! They’re airy. They’re liberating. They look sexy as hell.
If you’re not wearing bloomers right now, I will tease you mercilessly, so you might want to get ready for that.
Imagine how wonderful the 21st century will be now that we’re all going to wear bloomers all the time. Bloomers in sequins. Bloomers in velvet. Bloomers in lycra and linen. Bloomers at the theater. Bloomers at the cybermall. Bloomers when the government takes our houses and gives our children to the robots.
It almost makes me feel… hopeful.
Join #bloomersquad today.