This past weekend I wore skinny jeans for the first time and nothing happened.
To properly tell this story, we’re going to have to go back, way back, all the way to the BIG BANG. And then fast forward a lot, really fast to get to like whenever skinny jeans became a thing again. And I say again because skinny jeans were fucking huge in the 50s. Elvis, Marilyn Monroe, Gene Autry, some fictional dude named Cisco Kid, which aside in an aside, totally makes me want to hear the Thong Song remixed over a Cudder beat. And if we’re being really historical in this bitch, skinny pants were like the dopest in the 1660s. White wig wearing white men went fucking ape shit for their tight breeches, their tautness making it easier to run down would-be slaves. Yes, I did some basic Wikipedia research on tight pants. No, it’s not even close to the weirdest thing I researched yesterday.
Anyway, the Fiat of pants, I thought skinny jeans looked stupid as fuck when they were introduced to my life during their popularity boon of 20whenever. I mainly had three issues with them:
1.) There weren’t any Lupe Fiasco looking dudes running around in the rap game yet. Seriously, pretty much every rapper alive now looks like he’s auditioning for the token black guy in High School Musical -The 5 Year Reunion, but when skinny jeans first came out it was still cool to sag to your shins. Everyone was doing it. Hell, trailer park kids were still wearing fucking JNCOs. There wasn’t anyone jumping on the let’s wear tight pants that actually cover your hemorrhoids game. It wasn’t cool yet. Like most young, white men, I take my cues on what is cool from rappers, so there was no way I was going near those pants.
2.) I’m weird about my calves. Like, I don’t ever want there to be tightness around my calves. I wish I could wear basketball shorts to work. One of my biggest discomforts in life is that stupid thing that small children do when they don’t want you to leave, contorting their body into a perfect Flemish knot around your lower legs. (That joke is incredibly funny if you know that a Flemish knot is classified as a stopper knot. See? PUN.) Children are already little snot-filled water balloons of disease, I don’t need the added misery of them literally cramping my style (My calves cramp all the time. It’s a gift and a curse if you don’t know the definition of gift.). I’m lost on where I was going with this. Regardless, I don’t like calf snugness.
3.) No boner protection. Dude. Be for real. You and I both know normal jeans are great for covering boners.
Regardless, I finally caved on the skinny pant thing. I saw a pair for seven dollars at an outlet store, which was right in my wheelhouse in terms impulse buying decisions and what I can afford with the amount I pay out weekly in credit card blackmail. I tried them on, the calf snugness was more of a gentle hug than the vice grip I was expecting, and that was good enough for me to pull the trigger.
This past weekend, I wore them when I went out and nothing happened. But you already knew that. It was literally the title of this entry.