Day 158: I’ll Never Understand Black Pants

In 8th grade, our school band took a trip to Chicago. It was a very revelatory experience that had nothing to do with music. It was when I fell in love with deep dish pizza and the dirty ass city. I had never actually been in a “city” before, with the exception to when my dad would clutch my hand tightly and double step from the truck to Tiger Stadium [in hindsight, I don’t even recall looking up during these walks, as I was so focused on not tripping [although there was this one time that a pimp-looking dude walked towards us, pointed at my Dad and said “Ayyy, Breadman!”. I asked my Dad if he knew him. He denied it. I still kept a fantasy in my mind that he sold black market bread to pimps.]].

I learned a lot of things on that trip. I learned that I wanted to live in the city when I grew up. Also, anybody will tell a kid that they’re homeless if the kid has pizza. I discovered what happens when you try to dial out of a hotel phone by pressing 9, 1 and then 1 again. But most importantly, I learned that black pants suck.

We were told ahead of time to dress up for the last night. I was determined to wear my go-to khakis, but my Mom insisted that I wear black pants. I don’t know what she was so adamant about this. Especially when the plaid shirt that I had packed already was green and brown.

“It doesn’t match with my shirt!”

“Black matches with everything, Troy”

“Nah-uh!”

“Troy…”

So black pants it was. As it turns out, we were booked to take over the bottom deck of a boat, effectively crashing some high school’s prom. Everyone was dressed to the nines and there I was, puke green, poop brown and black. I prayed that nobody would notice how terribly I clashed. Those prayers were answered for a whole 2 minutes.

Before we even got on the boat, my arch-nemesis, Nick, pointed out my terrible attire. “Nice pants, Trrroooooyyyyyy!”. Everyone within earshot laughed, even the girl I had a crush on [who was conveniently dating fuckin’ Nick because of course she was]. I was doomed. My whole world was collapsing and it was all because of those stupid pants. From that day, I was determined to never wear black pants again. I just couldn’t trust them.

And I was mildly successful with that. Aside from work uniforms that were designed to make me feel like a tool, black pants stayed out of my wardrobe. I developed a style of my own and took pride in always making jeans or khakis look good. If I never wore black pants again, it would be too soon.

But then I married Rachel.

Black pants is her religion. I don’t think I saw her in jeans until we moved in together. And I don’t understand how she does it. No matter what, she pulls it off. Every time I imagine wearing them, I think back to Chicago and recoil in horror. But a couple of years ago, I finally cracked. I bought black jeans and figured out one outfit that didn’t make me look like a clashing doofus. I wore them a few times and then completely forgot it ever happened.

After more unspoken pressure, I bought another pair last week. I was reluctant at first, but Rachel incessantly repeated my Mom’s false argument of “they go with everything”. Once again, they do not go with everything. I am extremely uncomfortable today.

They’re completely covered in cat hair because they existed in my apartment for more than 30 seconds. And they seemingly don’t match with anything I own. Gray shoes should match in theory, but it just doesn’t feel right. And the maroon hoodie only makes it worse. I could feel my clashiness radiating as I walked down the street. I was waiting for Nick to pop out of an alleyway to laugh at me. I probably look normal, but I just feel so…seen.

So why am I wearing black pants? Because it’s a challenge. I’ve already mastered my wardrobe and it bothers me that something so popular and innocuous fills me with dread. I am determined to figure out how these stupid pants work or I will die of embarrassment trying.

I’m doing it for me.

I’m doing it for all of the kids out there that are getting laughed at on a boat.

I’m doing it because fuck Nick.

I’m doing it because I have nothing better to do.

– TeeCoZee