Posts Tagged ‘frustration’

Where my pants at?

“working hard on walking out / my shoes keep sticking to the ground / my clothes won’t let me close the door / my trousers seem to love your floor”


if some strange force (and what force would that be? and who’s?) were to compel you to open up my closet this afternoon, you would find the following:

– unmatched sock pile
– college diplomas, numbering two…. to be burned, maybe?
– enema kit
– a single tie, and an unused belt
– a basketball
– backup rain gear
– the requisite shirts, etc.
– alternately, 5 or 6 pairs of jeans… each subject to varying degrees of use, abuse, disinterest, and so on

the list could go on, but you’ll figure that out when you peek (and, again, why are you peeking?).
in any case, it is the last denim-y item here that interests me today. see, because today is Thursday. and because of various scheduling conveniences, Thursday is the day that I stop at buffalo exchange after work. which is where I continue my intensely frustrating and tedious quest for new clothing. buffalo exchange, as it were, is your basic consignment/thrift store, and as these things go, it’s pretty mediocre.
and the staff, bless ‘em, say things like, “hey! awesome shirt!” or, “can’t beat that!” when you approach them at the register (which, naturally, would be all fine and good—perhaps encouraging—save for the fact that they’re so obviously not sincere about it; it’s a three-button navy oxford shirt, afterall. and you’re wearing a striped serape and feather fedora; what am I to you?)
but this is portland, and for lack of a beacon’s closet (hey brooklyn!), it’ll have to do.

anyhow, re: denim… what gives? who needs so much of this shit?
seriously. I’ve been to almost every thrift store in town and it’s everywhere. endlessly so. and I’ve had enough of it. that’s right, thrift store. I’m talkin’ to you. you with your rack-upon-rack of trendy fades, ripped knees, button flys. you with your size 40 waist / 26 length.
I’m over you.

here’s a few things I know about denim:
oh, you’re wearing jeans? what? me too! oh… and you? jeans? well, I’ll be. I’m also wearing jeans. oh, not you, too! and so on and so on.
are you getting this? you have jeans, I have jeans, we have jeans. there’s nothing new here.

and, still. so here we are. my legs need pants. ain’t no two ways about it.
and while I certainly have room in my heart for the right pair of jeans, the rest of me yearns for more… more fabric. more soft cotton. more poly blends. more NOT denim.
at present, I have one single pair of lonely pants. and they are fading quickly. and they weren’t that super to begin with. I’m up against the wall here. and while I can certainly see the end for these pants, I’m nowhere near seeing a beginning for new ones.
and this is distressing. what do I do when all of my pants are gone?
(answer: wear jeans….)

now here’s the rub:
pants are out there. I’ve seen them. my housemate wears them. my friend scott wears them (exclusively… and they’re all fantastic). where are they finding them? I’ve asked around. it doesn’t help. scott’s a magician… finds them in free piles, garbage bins, Goodwills.
this is incomprehensible to me. I’ve been looking for years now, and what do I have?
the pants people are better than me… that much I know. and until I can share in the pants love, I’ll never be even half the man I aim to be. and that’s a shame. ‘cause I aim high.

so, yeah. tonight. thrift store. what awaits?
surely more jeans. surely more denim. surely more awful pants that wouldn’t fit any kind of body shape that I have ever seen, or even have thought to exist. seriously, how does a consignment store end up purchasing clothing with these sizes? how can someone so, well… big … be so short? and how can they wear such terrible jeans anyhow?

right. getting carried away. something needs to be done. that much is certain.
what to do?
really, what to do? I’m asking.
I’ve been at this a long time. I’m still wearing denim.

but I have a dream… a vision. of a world with pants. and me in it.

in pants.

in my mind, i am sporting a perfect pair. and, really, it’s not asking so much… i don’t need sequins, stripes, pleats, secret pockets, pouches, bold colors. i’m not reinventing the wheel here. at some point in time, at some places in the world, there were/are people in pants. sign me up.

so, then. tonight I will boldly march into buffalo exchange and head straight for the racks. I will wince at the sight of endless denim and I will dig. I will shift hangers, I will dodge fellow disappointed shoppers. I will frown at the mobs waiting in line to sell yet more denim, more fades, more rips. I will expect, well, pants.


A Better World.

A Better World.


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