Why Harem Pants?

Since the Spring shows, designers have started walking a look down the runway that I immediately consigned to the "no" column upon viewing.

Light of the Harem by Lord Frederick Leighton

Yes, I'm talking harem pants. I know, *gasp*, *shudder*, wear-me-not, right?

What they were walking down the runways actually was more like this:

Harem pants from Phi's Spring 2009 collection,
New York Fashion Week
photo by Bebeto Matthews/AP

Phi Spring 2009, photo from Style.com

With minimal research into the topic, I discovered the harem pant trend was generated by a "very chic French editor." At least, that's according to The Today Show when they did a gripping, hard-hitting news story on the pants. But we know this is bunk right?




Exactly.

And you never wanted to touch *that* back in the day because MC Hammer, despite his smooth gliding dance moves and and irritatingly catchy music, was, in fact, dressed as a circus clown. A circus clown if Bozo had had to live in the Ottoman Empire wearing sequins and sometimes spangles, and, quite obviously, with a scimitar constantly at his neck, 'cause I can't see someone outside a megalomaniac hip hop star willingly wearing those things.

But I'll give The Today Show some credit. Clearly, it wasn't a chic American fashion editor wearing the pants at the shows, because, let's face it, American women like to make their butts look smaller and more compact, not saggy and droopy (at best).

At any rate, upon first view, I thought, "No." I wasn't happy that yet again FASHION had chosen to revisit my youth and pick another style that I was damned certain wouldn't ever come back around again. Last year, it was stirrup pants.


2000s style. Ugh. Buy some leggings that fit, Hayden, and stop ruining those lovely Louboutins.

Colette in The Vagabond

And go away, stirrup pants. Colette is not amused.

I was, briefly, until I started seeing Texan teens bopping along the street in stirrup pants and cheap heels and I felt a little ill.

Seriously, 70s/80s fashion was fueled by pop music, punk and cocaine. Let's be honest and say that those three things together often led to a dubious fashion sense. Lots of hits, and a lot more misses.

For example, stirrup pants needed to stay hidden, tucked into riding boots so no one knows they extend down to your arch and are causing the most itchy reaction there. Stirrup pants, not so hot. Terribly uncomfortable, too. It's much easier to just wear leggings.

That should be a mantra, actually: It's always easier to wear leggings. They are the Juicy couture velour tracksuits of the '00s.

Still, after some sadistic designers reinvented stirrup pants out of their bag of tricks, I suppose it was only a matter of time before someone dug up MC Hammer or The Vagabond or any number of Ottoman references and decided that harem pants were the way to go with reinventing vintage fashion trends.

Well, this last weekend I found myself doing the dangerous deed of tooling around on French stylists' Web sites. I spend hours dissecting French style and the way women put together their outfits on these sites. I am borderline obsessed during Paris Fashion Week and I love to see the avant garde take on the new styles that pop up after the shows. French street style is always so inventive.

So, there I was, looking at one of my favorite sites, and the stylist on it was wearing fucking harem pants without a trace of irony. She looked chic and effortless and comfortable and all those things that American women hate about French women. I "humphed" and then moved on. No way would I wear Hammer harem pants. Bah.

But this weekend while at one of my favorite consignment stores, I noticed a pair of harem pants hanging on the $5 rack ...

... and I tried them on with my five-inch cut-out sandals and layered tanks ...

... and damn if I didn't buy them.

Sad.

The way I see it I can blame a couple of things in what may seem a lapse of common sense on my part: (a) When in doubt, blame the French and (b) they are sweatpant comfortable without being sweatpants.

"Hurrah!" for the French! For once, they have picked a fashion trend that is totally comfort-based. Really, try on a pair of harem pants, walk around a bit, and then try on your fave skinny pants and see which ones you end up choosing on your off days.

I know I didn't resist all that hard. I made it one fashion season before giving into Gallic pressure and buying a pair, but I'm glad I did because, as the Ottoman harem girls, Colette, MC Hammer and a "chic French fashion editor" could have told you, harem pants are like wearing your most comfy pajamas.

Anthony Christian, Harem Pants 1992

And that rocks. After years of perfect sillhouettes, the French have given us a trend that isn't trying to contort your bits and bobs into sculpted perfection.

So what if you look like you have droopy diaper drawers and your legs are somewhat stunted by the fact they now start at your knees? They are terribly chic, droopy diaper drawers and your torso now looks exceptionally long. And who doesn't want to have a long, chic torso?

I long ago gave up on having my stubby, nubby little legs looking like Gisele Bundchen's (bitch) . There is only so much five-inch heels can do with legs on a woman who is 4"8, after all. Lengthy torso on the other hand? There's a whole lot of YAY! involved there, forgive me if I am excited to look like I have have normal torso length.

Gisele in a harem pant jumpsuit. Who'd thunk we'd
ever have to write those words again?

So, I am embracing my new harem pants and my 70s/80s roots. As long as the French are going to go for comfort over cinched-waist, corseted getups, I am totally there. It is 108 degrees outside and I like wearing harem-pajamas in public.

In black silk, even.

Poetry: The Navajo Night Chant

House Made of Dawn

The Navajo Night Chant

---

In Tse'gihi

In the house made of the dawn,

In the house made of the evening twilight,

In the house made of the dark cloud,

In the house made of the he-rain,

In the house made of the dark mist,

In the house made of the she-rain,

In the house made of pollen,

In the house made of grasshoppers,

Where the dark mist curtains the doorway,

The path to which is on the rainbow,

Where the zigzag lightning stands high on top,

Where the he-rain stands high on top,

Oh, male divinity!

With your moccasins of dark cloud, come to us.

With your leggings of dark cloud, come to us.

With your shirt of dark cloud, come to us.

With your head-dress of dark cloud, come to us.

With your mind enveloped in dark cloud, come to us.

With the dark thunder above you, come to us soaring.

With the shapen cloud at your feet, come to us soaring.

With the far darkness made of the dark cloud over your head, come to us soaring.

With the far darkness made of the he-rain over your head, come to us soaring..

With the far darkness made of the dark mist over your head, come to us soaring.

With the far darkness made of the she-rain over your head, come to us soaring.

With the zigzag lightning flung out on high over your head, come to us soaring.

With the rainbow hanging high over your head, come to us soaring.

With the far darkness made of the he-rain on the ends of your wings, come to us soaring.

With the far darkness made of the dark mist on the ends of your wings, come to us soaring.

With the far darkness made of the she-rain on the ends of your wings, come to us soaring.

With the zigzag lightning flung out on high on the ends of your wings, come to us soaring.

With the rainbow hanging high on the ends of your wings, come to us soaring.

With the near darkness made of the dark cloud, of the he-rain, of the dark mist and of the she-rain, come to us.

With the darkness of the earth, come to us.

With these I wish the foam floating on the flowing water over the roots of the great corn.

I have made your sacrifice.

I have prepared a smoke for you.

My feet restore for me.

My limbs restore for me.

My body restore for me.

Mt mind restore for me.

My voice restore for me.

Today, take out your spell for me.

Today, take away your spell for me.

Away from me you have taken it.

Far off from me, it is taken.

Far off you have done it.

Happily I recover.

Happily my interior becomes cool.

Happily my eyes regain their power.

Happily my head becomes cool.

Happily my limbs regain their power.

Happily I hear again.

Happily for me is taken off.

Happily I walk.

Impervious to pain, I walk.

Feeling light within, I walk.

With lively feelings, I walk.

Happily abundant dark clouds I desire.

Happily abundant dark mists I desire.

Happily abundant passing showers I desire.

Happily an abundance of vegetation I desire.

Happily an abundance of pollen I desire.

Happily abundant dew I desire.

Happily may fair white corn, to the ends of the earth, come with you.

Happily may fair yellow corn, to the ends of the earth, come with you.

Happily may fair blue corn, to the ends of the earth, come with you.

Happily may fair plants of all kinds, to the ends of the earth, come with you.

Happily may fair goods of all kinds, to the ends of the earth, come with you.

Happily may fair jewels of all kinds, to the ends of the earth, come with you.

With these before you, happily may they come with you.

With these behind you, happily may they come with you.

With these below you, happily may they come with you.

With these abovee you, happily may they come with you.

With these all around you, happily may they come with you.

Thus happily you accomplish your tasks.

Happily the old men will regard you.

Happily the old women will regard you.

Happily the young men will regard you.

Happily the young women will regard you.

Happily the boys will regard you.

Happily the girls will regard you.

Happily the children will regard you.

Happily the chiefs will regard you.

Happily, as they scatter in different directions, they will regard you.

Happily, as they approach their homes, they will regard you.

Happily may their roads back home be on the trail of pollen.

Happily may they all get back.

In beauty I walk.

With beauty before me, I walk.

With beauty behind me, I walk.

With beauty below me, I walk.

With beauty above me, I walk.

With beauty all around me, I walk.

It is finished in beauty,

It is finished in beauty,

It is finished in beauty,

It is finished in beauty.

Hmmm ...

"Every new beginning comes from some other beginnings end."

Or so the (cheesy pop) song is sung. I suppose I had to start somewhere, right? It probably sets the tone of this blog that I picked a lyric from a Supersonic song (the only Supersonic song I know) to open this entry, instead of something inspiring from someone long dead and moldering in the grave.

Personally, I'm not that fond of new beginnings; I much prefer to just skip ahead to the heart of the matter where I (hopefully) know what I'm doing. Beginnings can be so uncomfortable, what with all the not knowing bit. I admit it, I am a very happy know-it-all, and not knowing gives me hives. (Itchy little buggers.) I just can't stand it.

Technically, I already have a blog, on livejournal. I've been keeping it for maybe three, years now and it has served me pretty well as a proper vent of my life, my obsessions, my health. Okay, so maybe I don't get to write about my deep and abiding love for fashion on my blog. I tend to write about football (European), politics (geopolitical) and my life (or lack thereof).

While these things are all very much a part of me, they are not a completely accurate portrait of me. Not yet. Maybe I can change that here.

Or maybe I won't.

Intentions mean nothing is actions don't back them up.

I recently suffered a massive stint of writer's block that I am still crawling out of. I am not sure how often I will update here, but I am glad to have (yet another) outlet for my writing.

If you want the background blog: imbrium's tears

And, here, at the end of this less-than-stellar beginning, my dead white man's quote:

"Do what you will, this world's a fiction and is made up of contradiction." ~William Blake