Panting and puffing over the suspension paradox

These days, having an opinion seems trendier than opium back in the good old Victorian ages. A topic everyone seems to have an opinion on is the current “youth” aka “strange-looking boys with tattoos.” Everything from our lack of social responsibility to our lack of clothing has been mercilessly dragged through the all-seeing eye that is armchair critique. Our lack of motivation, lack of decorum, lack of sobriety (a vastly overrated phenomenon, I must add) just about everything is pointed out by adults whom we conveniently label as “outdated.”

I leave them to their battles, being ill equipped to interfere. Yet, if there is a matter that genuinely gets to me, it’s pants.

Yes, pants.

An innocent piece of attire you say. A completely harmless way or covering up our less-than-dazzling limbs you say. Lies. All lies. The innocent pantaloons, something designed primarily for differentiating between genders, are now being abused in the most blatant manner possible. Being intended for the concealment of one’s unmentionables, these intriguing devices are now utilised to show off just what particular brand of underwear you’re currently sporting.

After all, who can forget their first unintentional viewing of just how low, low can go. Their introduction to brand names such as Calvin Klein, Hugo Boss or the ever-popular down south declaration, “JOCKEY.” Or for those poor unsuspecting souls who have witnessed perhaps the most appalling bit, the majesty that is the Gluteus Maximus, all we can say is, with enough therapy, it should pass.

But why lay blame solely on the men? Gender equality all the way. The young ladies out there go to quite the other extreme. While the men are out sporting the latest in gravity-fuelled wear, women have decided to save up on those precious three inches of denim and opted for a size that was clearly intended for twelve-year-old girls.

Circulation? Overrated. The ability to breathe? For weaklings. Bending? Blasphemy. Who needs these simple pleasures in life when you can show off the latest in lower body asphyxiation? Levi’s or Pepe, of course.

Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate a pair of skinny jeans as much as the next person, but there’s skinny and then, there’s the inability to sit without looking like you’re in labour.

To all the adults who go sour faced while describing their kid’s latest trend obsession, I agree. Taking things to a new extreme seems quite the favourite pastime. Because these days one never really knows where fashion ends and masochism begins.

So, as a parting shot, to all those souls in the most ill-fitting trousers money can buy, give yourselves and your waistlines a break. Understand the fact that no woman has ever been enticed by the sight or smell of your woolly privates and no man wants a woman who takes about twenty minutes to move from Point A to the foot away Point B. And for the love of god…do not give us the classic “I dress up for myself” argument. Again to the women, “yourself” should prefer breathing and to the men, there’s no way that much breeze can possibly be comfortable.

Now that I have put in my two cents, I retire to the comfort of overused boxers till I witness the next horrifying phenomenon that is, The Popped Collar Dilemma.

Mehernaz Patel is a member of DNA’s Shadow Editorial Board