A pantless perspective
This is what I would tell the police about driving home with no pants on
I drove home pantless the other day. As in I had no trousers on. Or jeans. Or tracksuit pants. No pants of any kind. I did have underwear on. And my top half was covered in clothing. I also still had socks and shoes on. Just no pants. NO PANTS.
I’m not sure if driving pantless is illegal. I would have hotly contested the charge if the police did happen to pull me over. I would have done so on the grounds that it was too dangerous for me to continue driving with pants on.
You see, I was just so itchy.
I’ve been undertaking a wardrobe data collection exercise of late. It has involved cataloguing everything in there, mapping and matching items to create outfits and documenting what I wear daily. I admit it is slightly OTT and it is taking up a lot of time (I don’t really have much to catalogue) but I am loving the process (and there is a point to it but that is another story).
Cataloguing, and cleaning while cataloguing, (which is what I have also been doing (again, somewhat frenetically)), has resulted in uncovering some “treasures”, those garments that have been unloved, left to languish forlornly at the very back of the wardrobe.
This is where I found a pair of black suit-like pants. I don’t work in an office, or anywhere for that matter, that requires wearing fancy clothes. I work from home. My dog prefers to see me in tracksuit pants as she knows that increases her chances of being taken for a walk. Because I like pleasing my dog — and being comfortable — tracksuit pants are standard wear. (Far too standard it seems. And I know this because I am tracking what I wear and can see, disappointingly, that more than half my clothes are rarely taken out for a spin).
Like every other item in my closet, I dutifully catalogued the suit pants. I also found some lovely matches for them that created outfits: a black jumper, another black jumper, a black shirt, a brown jumper and a blue jumper. It seems that one cannot go wrong with a pair of black pants. They go with, almost, everything.
Everything, that is, except for my legs.
I’ve gradually been replacing and updating my wardrobe to contain only cotton or linen (I would also like some silk in there — one day). But synthetics remain and, occasionally, sneak in during a moment of extreme weakness (by me).
These black suit pants just happened to be synthetic. 100% polyester.
And, in my desire (and guilt) to wear them (the fit was great, perfect length, it had a lot of friends in my wardrobe and, if I may be so bold, they looked good on me) I, conveniently, forgot about just how much I hated them.
That was my first mistake.
I have known for a very long time my legs do not like being constrained by plastic (it really is not fantastic)
A memorable flight from Melbourne to LA is worth recounting. I was wearing blue pants. I was nervous. It was my second time overseas and while my parents thought I was heading to Canada for a semester abroad – which I was – they did not know that I was detouring first. Stopping off in LA to meet Oreo boy, otherwise known as Josh. He was an American from Washington State with a lovely smile who had once delivered to me (in person, in Australia) a backpack full of Oreos. This was back in the day when Oreos could not be bought in Australia. Anyway, I’m on the plane to meet him and my hand and legs were sweaty. At some point, most likely over the Pacific Ocean, I realised I had broken out in hives on my thighs. Not a great start (it got worse when I arrived). I flew uncomfortable and unhappy, in contrast to the couple next to me, who really got to know each other until they landed and she was met by, what I assume, was her husband at the LA arrivals hall, (again, another story for another day). I ended up meeting Josh but my legs remained itchy for a day or two until the LA sun (and an epic day in Disneyland) cured me.
That was a long time ago.
This week, I had found these pants and wanted to give them some love. So I put them on and wore them, around the house (to the disgust of my dog) and then, also, out of the house for the school run.
Mistake number two. I had the pants on for longer than 30 minutes.
My legs blew up. Almost anyway.
The scratchiness was unbearable. To the point that when the kids did get in the car in the school car park, I shimmed and shuffled around and pulled the pants off.
This did not go down well. With the children that is. The dog and I found it hilarious, although I was still a little itchy and I did wonder about the legality of the situation. But I perservered, despite the children’s embarrassment, and drove home pantless.
What do I do now though?
Clearly, I cannot wear those pants again. It is too dangerous. What happens if I’m too far away from home, the itch strikes and I have to take them off again? But, more insidiously, I do wonder what other damage — that I can’t see or feel — these pants could be doing to me aside from making me unbearably itchy. I dread to think.
This leaves my options with the pants then as:
selling/swapping or donating them;
sending them off to be recycled (assuming they can be)
placing them in the back of the wardrobe again; or
throwing them out.
None of these feel like great options to me.
Options 2, 3 and 4 are stupid and, really, should not even be options because it is an absolute waste of the resources that were used to make them in the first place if I dispose of them or fail to wear them. Everything that is made must be used — as much as possible — so that it was worth making them in the first place.
Using that logic, then, surely, I should go with Option 1 and, happily, sell/swap/donate the pants so that someone else can wear them. But this also makes me really, really uncomfortable. I have a very icky feeling in my stomach about passing on a pair of pants that, I know, may cause harm.
What I hate most of all is that these pants — and all the millions of pants just like them — are even made in the first place. And that these pants continue to be made in insanely HUGE quantities.
Why is the world sanctioning making clothes that are, in effect, unwearable? How is it even possible today to make clothes that (aside from my legs) damage people and planet — anyone and anything involved in the production and construction — because of the materials and chemicals that are used? And how can we continue to do so when we have loads and loads of excellent evidence and reports telling us that THIS IS NOT GOOD?
Today’s fashion industry has become synonymous with overconsumption, a snowballing waste crisis, widespread pollution and the exploitation of workers in global supply chains. Less well-known is that the insatiable fast fashion business model is enabled by cheap synthetic fibres, which are produced from fossil fuels, mostly oil and gas. Polyester, the darling of the fast fashion industry, is found in over half of all textiles and production is projected to skyrocket. Our campaign exposes the apparent correlation between the growth of synthetic fibres and the fast fashion industry — one cannot exist without the other. The campaign calls for prompt, radical legislative action to slow down the fashion industry and decouple it from fossil fuels.
If the police had pulled me over while I was driving home pantless I would have told them that the real problem is not the people who drive home with no pants on but that the world allows, and continues to allow, the making of such poisonous rubbish (and then we, unwittingly perhaps, wear the rubbish (I wonder if the police know what’s in their pants?)). There has to be a better option here then me being pantless. As my kids told me, this is not a situation that needs to be repeated anytime soon!
soundtrack. keep reading, this is relevant to rounding off the story.
Three songs this week which, somewhat serendipitously, really do round out this tale.
First, the amazing Finneas and his song, “Naked”.
I like this line:
“And if you’re gonna spend it, then don’t waste it”
This line applies to the peeps responsible for making our stuff. They are the ones spending nature’s budget, including the ever dwindling carbon budget, and using it to make some really terrible stuff.
Dudes, if you are going to make clothes then please don’t make crappy, unwearable clothes that give people hives.
MAKE BETTER!
I also have to put in Natalie Imbruglia’s “Torn” here. Not because I have — for like FOREVER — searched for a zip up hoodie exactly like the one Natalie wears in this clip (and, when I do eventually find it, it will not be itchy). But because her lying naked on the floor was me driving home pantless! The fashion industry had left me completely exposed (just to drive home (HA!) the metaphor).
Finally, the classic “One Week” by Bare Naked Ladies.
I have to go back to this because this band, to me, is Canada where I did, eventually, end up, once I abandoned my adventures with Oreo Boy. Bare Naked Ladies are a Canadian band and they were HUGE when I was last there. One Week is such a fun song that, just happens, to contain this line:
“I have a history of taking off my shirt”
Oreo Boy liked being shirtless (again, a story for another day!).
And now I have been forced to be pantless.
Neither of these things are right.
jb