All the Rage

If there’s any one thing that elicits a strong reaction among us geezers, it’s saggin’ pants. Truth is, they really don’t bother me that much. If anything, they’re funny. Some time back I observed a young couple sitting on a bench at the mall. The young man stood up and his pants fell to the floor and he didn’t even notice. His wife had to tell him, “Honey, your pants fell off.”

A guy knocked on my door once to ask me if he could do some yard work. Before he could ask, I noticed that his pants were at half-mast and he was clutching them to hold them up. Alarmed, I said, “The bathroom’s in there.”

As I understand it, the sagging pants thing is an attempt to look tough; “thug chic”. How effective are you as a thug if you have to hold your pants up with one hand? How are you going to rob somebody if you’ve got a gun in one hand and your pants in the other? Where are you going to put the loot? Between your teeth? It seems to me that thuggery is much more effective with both hands free. I imagine cops are perfectly happy with the lowrider style. A crook is easier to catch if he’s tripping on his pants. “You’re tripping!” gains a whole new meaning.

If you are truly bothered by somebody wearing their pants so low that you can see all of their underwear, just think back to when you wore your pants so tight that folks could tell whether or not you were wearing any drawers. If it really, really bugs you, next time you see one of these wannabe thugs riding low, just sneak up behind him, grab him by the BVDs and haul ‘em up high and tight. That’s right; give him a good old fashioned wedgie. And don’t worry about retaliation. If you do it right he’ll be too busy getting himself unwedged to even think about killing you.

I often hear older women tsk, tsk, tsking over what young girls are wearing these days. Ironically those clothes are almost identical to what those old ladies were wearing in the 60s and 70s: skintight hiphugger pants, midriff-baring tops, crazy hair and scary eye makeup. I won’t go into the whole tattoo and piercing thing here. That’s weird enough to warrant another whole column.

Styles change, although most people seem to think that whatever was in style when they were young and hip should still be the style. That miniskirt that looked good on you when you were twenty does not, I repeat, does not look that good on you now. And no, you can’t pass off varicose veins as patterned hose. Hot pants are not so hot after “a certain age”. That hoochie Wonderbra is for those young enough not to need it. On an older woman it looks like her bosoms are trying to escape.

And guys? That ruffled tie-dyed disco shirt unbuttoned to the sternum? No. A hairy chest at 30 may be sexy to some women, but gray chest hair is just creepy. Platform shoes are proof that drugs were way too available in the old days. Not to mention parachute pants, Nehru jackets and countless other fashion abominations.

Judge not, lest ye be judged. Somewhere in a dusty photo album is a picture of you in all your bell bottomed, pointy collared, paisleyed, platform shod, long haired glory.