Ok. So this wasn’t really the look I was going for.
Now, you crazy kids might be as happy as lambs in spring bouncing around in your MC Hammer harem pants all hours of the day and night, but I did not care for ‘em in the 80s, I did not care for ‘em in the 90s and I do not particularly care for them now. That’s not to imply I do not understand (and wholebummedly enjoy) the comfort of a baggy trouser. I do. I really, really do – and in actual fact, I enjoy schmooshing around in the comfort factor of these babies more than you’d ever believe but – let’s be frank. They’re not doing much for me, are they?
I bought my big trousers for £5 from a market stall near Broadway Market yesterday. A case of mistaken identity. I was excited that they seemed roomy enough to house my enormous arse but also excited that they were nice and narrow at the ankle. I thought they’d behave more like a pair of peg legs. They don’t. They behave like a big pair of wind breakers.
So. There was only one thing to do. Two things actually. The first? Resign myself to the fact I will never be able to wear my new trousers outdoors. The second? Do high kicks.
£5 well spent if you ask me.