Someone supposedly wrote into the Strib this week to ask, "What on earth are carrot pants?" (I doubt this. I highly doubt that anybody is going around knowing that such a thing exists but not what. This is a ringer. But never mind, let us continue.) And in their explanation, the Strib said that the said carrot pants have tapered ankles but "use pleats to create volume through the hips."
Let's have a show of hands among female-identified persons over the age of, say, 14: who among us feels the need to use pleats to create volume through the hips? My ass is a size 4. 4. As in 4-pity's-sake even the insane American fashion industry cannot convince me that this is an overly large size. You know. That 4. And yet. Do I need pleats to create volume through the hips? I'm thinking no. I'm thinking not so much. How to tell my hips from pageant hair: they do not need volumizer. The end.
These are the pants for people who really, truly woke up one morning and said, "my top half is all right, but my lower half looks insufficiently like a root vegetable." But carrot, carrot seems like a misnomer to me, given how tall most of us aren't. I'm thinking turnip. I'm thinking rutabaga. And at that point, I beg--nay, I demand--that the fashion industry gives me what I truly need in trousers. Which is to say, the celeriac pants. The only pants in the world that look exactly like the baobab planet from Le Petit Prince. Hard to wash. Hard to iron. Hard to walk in. Yet awesome. With all the tendrils and the reconnection of the fabric to itself and possibly root charms hanging off. Come on! Celeriac pants! The natural next step in fashion evolution!
Seriously, people talk about looking at their old photos and thinking, "Did we ever think that looked good?" And I have this gift: I do that in real-time. Most of the stuff people wear most of the time looks fine to me at the time, and it looks fine to me in old photos. Yes, women's T-shirts were cut shorter in '01 than they are this year. They looked fine then, they look fine now, as long as you're not taking them to ridiculous extremes. When you are taking them to ridiculous extremes, they looked bad then, they look bad now. Or they look ridiculous but somehow work on you. Those are the options. When people from my high school post old photos on Facebook and write, "OMG can you believe we thought that looked good?", I either think, "Calm down, dude; deep breaths," or I think, "Who 'we,' kemosabe? Because, y'know. If you'd asked."
Carrot pants are not on the list of things you are destined to love later. Hold out for the celeriac pants. Or possibly the box to hold the sheep.