Hatin’ on Society’s Love Affair with Pants
I don’t believe in hatred as a rule but I have made an exception over the last few years and I can say this proudly: I hate pants.
Maybe it is too strong of a sentiment. Perhaps some of you are fans of those two-legged monstrosities but I don’t really care. Pants are annoying; you have to plan a whole outfit around constricting and unflattering jeans. To put it mildly: to hell with pants.
I am dedicated to wearing skirts, shorts, dresses and I would probably even venture to say kilts so long as I don’t have to put on a pair of pants. Freedom is actually just a world without pants.
A damp and cold October night could not bring me to give in. My stubborn nature and dedication to this one-person cause led me to show up to a concert soaking wet.
Was it smart? No. Was it worth it? Absolutely.
Some people will never understand the pleasure of working in their underwear from home (as a freelance journalist, for instance—but don’t tell my interviewees that) or finding alternatives for harsh winters in Quebec, but some of you are reading this and already pulling off those jeans.
There is nothing I hate more than pants. Don’t you hate pants? Well, it doesn’t matter because, if it requires pants, I’m not going.
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