(does that count as a clickbait title? I do hope not)
As you are undoubtedly aware by this point (and if not, I truly mean what I’m about to say), I detest jeans and everything they stand for, instead choosing to wear the much more comfortable, practical, and indeed humble, tracksuit trouser. However, due to a logistical mishap (read: I couldn’t be asked to do it yesterday), I’ve ended up with ones extra day where I must wear clothes before I do laundry; in practice, this means I was out of trackies to wear today, which is a frankly terrifying prospect.
I entertained the idea of re-wearing old trousers, but some of the sage advice one picks up from the cool kids in year eight, when you walk past them in the playground and overhear some nugget of wisdom like the Oracle of Delphi itself was hanging out in your school in an ill-fitting blazer and rebellious earrings, came back to me: you know it’s bad if you can smell yourself. I have a particularly bad sense of smell, but even I could realise that three days in a row, two of them involving football and karate, is probably too long a time to wear the same pair of unwashed trousers.
So I sucked it up, pulled on the one pair of tight, black trousers I have (that aren’t jeans but look remarkably like jeans, the sort of thing that a My Chemical Romance fan would wear circa 2008, and are one of those generic items of clothing that can be formal or casual, probably depending on whether you give random people the finger while you’re wearing them), and was immediately stunned by the lack of pocket space, a fact I will now quote this post’s title in response to – how do you people live like this?
I can fit my phone, earphones, wallet and glasses case into my right pocket alone of my trackies, whereas only my phone will fit into the pocket of these other trousers; and I can only get it out by doing the weird pinchy thing where you squeeze the outside of the pocket to force its contents upwards, like squeezing a ketchup bottle made of polyester.
And I can only imagine the horror of the ‘girl pockets’ phenomenon that was a big thing on the Internet a few years back; the argument goes that women (and it is typically women who wear these kinds of clothes) never have access to pockets of a meaningful size, because they would look rough and untidy on the surface of a skirt or dress, and everyone knows we invented clothes to be fashionable, rather than any practical needs (keeping warm, anyone?).
You’ll be glad (read: I’ll be glad) to hear, however, that I have laundered my clothes now, and so won’t have to put up with the tyranny of skinny trousers any longer; apart from the fact that you can’t dry-clean trackies (presumably as an attempt to obtain some kind of cosmic balance because they’re so obviously superior to all other items of clothing in every other way), so my room is currently adorned with damp pairs of trousers, giving off that cheap detergent smell, that I can’t wear but am forced to state longingly at, which is probably the sort of tantalising torture used to upset diabetics, in which cakes and doughnuts are dangled from stings just within reach of the victim, but forever out of their grasp.
*cries out of impatience and despair*