For those of us privileged enough to work from home, it's the golden age of lounging in sweatpants, basketball shorts, leggings, or, for true freaks, underwear.
Me, I've worn one of four identical pairs of black Levi 513s (pictured above) all day, every day. Belt, too.
Get this: I don't even own sweatpants.
Let's just say my so-called friends have given me ample guff.
"Damn dude, you need to get a pair of comfortable pants," one idiot told me.
"Taking off jeans is the whole point of this; you don't have to wear jeans," added another, tone aghast.
In the face of coronavirus-induced quarantine leisurewear standards, my pro-jeans stance makes me something of a weirdo outlier. Even Anna Wintour, the fabulous editor-in-chief of Vogue, is embracing sweatpants. Rolling Stone is pushing sweatpants as the de facto stay-in-place uniform, as is socialist youth magazine Teen Vogue.
You might be asking yourself: Is the twisted author of this necessary essay some sort of masochist?
Hardly. Fabric is fabric. Sweatpants are cotton; jeans are mostly cotton. The notion that sweatpants are a transcendent leap forward of comfort is mostly in your head, the product of decades of Madison Avenue drum-beating about "coziness." I'm willing to cede that sweatpants provide a marginal boost of snuggliness, but it's not like you're sitting on a friggin' cloud.
Moreover, as a jeans evangelist, I'm afforded side and rear pockets. I dare you to find a better way to haul small objects from room to room! And, as a nerd, wearing jeans means I'm less susceptible to getting pantsed by my cruel wife and dogs.
Are you still reading this? Dear god... all right, well let's keep going.
Webster's defines "fashion" as "of clothing: worn by many people." In the great ecosystem of pants—cargo, harem, yoga, palazzo, even Minnesota's own Zubaz—there's a surplus of diversity for those "many people," all of which fulfill the (puritanical) objective of covering one's lower body.
In times of crisis, panicked groupthink can lead to an unwitting forfeiture of the freedoms and ideals we've come to take for granted. I'm old enough to remember a pre-COVID-19 time when innocuous pant choices weren't subjected to judgmental scorn, back when 400-word pant essays weren't foisted on innocent readers. I'd like to get back to that place.
And together, armed with pants of all styles and a dash of hope, I think we can.