Last Sunday morning while sitting at my neighborhood coffee shop, I asked my friend Brian for his thoughts on pants. He looked at me with a wry smile and said, “I’m for anything that doesn’t promote patriarchy.”

Pants are a small but important staple in my girl-power wardrobe. It isn’t about the cut, seam allowance, flare or fabric as much as how I feel as I put them on – the same way as every other human. I grew up in America at a time when boys seemed to have more power. Yet in my pants, unlike when I wore a skirt or a dress, I felt equal, aware of my unlimited potential – at least physically. I lept over every mud puddle uninhibited and split my legs as wide as I could to catch the most air. I knew my soft skin along my inner thighs would not get scratched as I contorted my body to get through the hole in the wire fence that was the shortcut to the department store, Zayres. I climbed as high as I wanted in rough bark trees and sat in any way that suited me. I never once thought about what people from below might see looking up at me. When I wore a skirt or dress, everything was different. I had responsibilities. Although I knew part of ‘dressing up’ was to polish my own look and by extension, my family. I also knew I had a whole lot of free flowing air around my bottom half that required management. It was a physical challenge with no benefit. “Don’t let anyone see your panties’ which really meant don’t expose your privates.

This was a stifling burden to my gender. When I wore a dress, I didn’t lie on the grass hill and roll down like a bowling pin. I walked and if I ran, I took care to note any updrafts and stop immediately if I was about to show the family goods. I am sure boys in dress pants were told to not get dirty, but they never had to adjust their behavior to prevent risk of exposing their crotch. What if a boy had equal time wearing a skirt and was taught the social responsibility of not letting anyone see his underwear? Most girls learned basic dress management skills; keep your hands at the ready on a windy day, tuck your shorter dress under your bum as you sit and hold your legs together. Take precise care when sitting if you want to cross your legs.

I was given tights as a buffer for coverage. Opaque tights were a nice snuggle for one’s lower half. Maybe it was just the Barrett brand of tights, but mine seemed to have a plunging crotch and a chronically downward rolling waistband. As I couldn’t cup my crotch to pull up the fabric for that would be against the rules, I hoisted from the waist and wiggled side to side until the fabric was snug everywhere. The snug fit would last minutes and regardless of whether I moved or not, gravity wreaked havoc with my sanity. More than once, I wouldn’t sense the first flip of my elastic waistband and like a reverse roller shade I’d see the puddled tights down below my knees. I hated tights.

Unlike skirts and dresses, which are hung up to be preserved, my folded pants would go on clean and end up tossed into the laundry dirty, twisted, well-used. Pants were an outer skin that allowed my feral desire to explore on, under, inside of every surface. One of my favorite childhood accomplishments was mastering a one touch hop of my 5 foot high back fence. It took me hundreds of awkward attempts slapping my body against the cold wire with cut ends. Eventually, I figured the proper distance and speed as I jumped one foot forward. My hands grabbed the top just as my foot would land toe-in for a stable plant and the same leg bend and push up catapulting my body up and over, landing on the dirt on the other side. ‘Taking the fence’ as Laney, Linda-Marie and some others would do was a joy – only made better during a a few days in the fall when the huge maple trees had shed their dry leaves into billowing brown mounds begging to absorb our bounding bodies and joyful laughter. My pants were a human’s best friend.

Today, I wear pants 28 out of 30 days in a month. I own many beautiful dresses and skirts and love wearing them on days I know won’t include tree climbing or fence hopping. When thinking what to give a young daughter, niece or granddaughter for a holiday or birthday gift, I recommend you skip the cute dress and buy her a pair of durable pants.

The Camel and the Pumpkin by Diane

What's My Style by Linda-Marie

Parlor