Friday, November 21, 2008

Yep. My Pants are Orange . . .

When I was a wee lad (and by "wee" I mean young as I was never small (the true definition of wee)) I was what the clothing industry called a "husky" boy. Husky, for those not in the know, is a poor euphemism for fat. On behalf of all "husky" boys - we knew what you meant and it didn't make us feel any better about ourselves.

Anywho - I've always (even as a wee lad) dressed like and favored the fashions of old men. I remember being ten years old and adoring dress pants and turtlenecks with sweater vests. Yep. Take a minute. Absorb that. Try to move past it. I don't know why - I just did. MAYBE because I had to wear the clothes of old men (Garanimals didn't really cater to the husky set). Maybe because I always liked my father's (I-now-see-as-questionable) sense of style. Maybe because I just liked the "maturity" that clothes could put on my otherwise childish (I mean that in the negative conotation) persona. Hard to say.

The crowning jewel of my early fashion passion was the corduroy pant (and vest, and sportscoat, and jacket, and shirt, and hat, and . . . ), I would look forward to fall's crisp air so I could put on my waled pants and rock out all winter along. And rock I did. Like the musical genre.

ONE challenge to cords, as you might know. Cords on a fat kid have a distinct sound. Yep. I said "sound" . . . as in zip. Zip. Zip. Zip. Thighs. Rubbing. Together. In. Waled. Fabric. Sounds. Like. Zip. Zip. Zip. Zip.

I didn't care. I wore 'em proud and let the pants quite literally speak for me.

At Quinnipiac the only part of college "hip" that I really took to (I never went to class in pajamas and never used laundry detergent to write black-light-only legible things on the wall) was the corduroy pants and big, oversized, wool sweater look. I wore that "uniform" from the minute the first leave fell until Spring Break most years.

Then something happened. In my mid-20s, being of tight budget and ever-tightening clothes, I got rid of the corduroy pant from my wardrobe. Truth be told the rubbing would wear through the fabric forcing me to buy newer pants (or show my crotch to the world) too often for my liking and I had tons of dress pants and turtlenecks in the closet anyway so . . . they had to go.

I went several years without a trace of my corduroy obsession but then, last year, being of thinner elk, I went back to the fabric that has always sang to me. I bought a few cords and wore them throughout the winter (my father now has those - crotch in tact - for him to enjoy this winter). Those were all "wide wale" (euphimism for "quieter") cords though. I didn't really test the waters but - last night - I took the full on cord challenge and WON!

I bought myself, for $19, a pair of American Living Collection (my fashion idol Ralph's line for JC Penney) ORANGE corduroy pants in a fine wale.

I put them on for the first time this morning (even took a few crotch-centric pictures of myself in them at 6:00 in the morning (Joy and Ava were finally sleeping (restless nights for both of them lately) or I'd have had Joy take the shot for me) and walked out of my closet to the beautiful sounds of SILENT corduroy pants.

I am suddenly super excited for winter . . . and my appropriately sized/fitting wool sweaters (I won't be going back to college "hip" any time soon).

No comments: