The other day I saw a sight my eyeballs are still traumatized over. I was driving past a city park near our local High School, when ambling around the corner came a nice-looking young man. Teen-aged still, I think. Happy. Healthy. And MUCH too cheeky.
The kid nodded and began cool-dude-ing it past me, and I will tell you what: it was Moon-River in my rear-view mirror, my friends. The boy's jeans were slung so low there was not one blessed thing left to my imagination in terms of his boxer-brief-thingies. Not to mention that which they were designed to hide. The denim waistband on Cool Dude's pants must literally have been pinned to his thighs. Or velcroed. Or spray-glued. There is no other way those jeans hadn't flipped him around in a Ringling Brother's pratfall. Gravity doesn't jive with that much defiance.
Now, I am not so far removed from teenage and young-adulthood that I can't remember some pretty moronic styles. I am a child of the '80s, after all. A decade which featured Molly Ringwald in the movie Pretty In Pink, wearing a satiny pink flour sack to Prom and calling it haute. I attended college with girls who blew their bangs straight up like little picket forehead-fences. Not even kidding. Must have taken a vacuum and a whole lot of shellack to stand those fringes at attention like that.
And it was okay. We all knew the idiocy was temporary. We wouldn't need to endure it for long because it would soon go the way of angel-flight pants and the Pompadour. But honeys! What is up with the thigh-pants? Boys have been wearing this style for nigh unto 20 years! They're wearing the same style their parents wore. Where's the shame? The built-in horror at remotely resembling their parental units?
It baffles me. And I'd love to say something that would change it all. It might be nice to see a good old-fashioned inseam longer than the 19-inch illusion this style creates. But I guess boys will be boys. Maybe we just need to make a new law. You know, regulate the length of a stride. Make it a yard and a half, at least. Maybe if these dude-sters rip out their thigh-velcro or flounder in the grass long enough they'll get a belt and yank it up. Until then, pray our emergency rooms have enough frostbite fighting bun-warmers. We've been having some wicked cold-snaps lately.
Hallelujah and Amen! Why do people expect women to have taste, but expect men to have no taste at all and look as sloppy and ugly as they can?
Heh. When confronted by fashion like that, I have to avert my eyes and concentrate on not screaming, ‘Dude. We don’t want to see it!’
I hadn’t thought about the fact that it’s been such a long fashion trend. Weird.