Remember these pants? I bought them to wear to the opera, the same day I bought the long vest and the duster and the colorful kimono.
I loved wearing them to the opera, because they dance and move as I trudge along. I hadn't worn them since the opera, but last month I wore them to work.
You know how friends will compliment you when you try something new? You wear your hair curly, then the one day you straighten it people like your hair? Then you wear it straight until the one day you let it curl and then it's all compliments, and you think, "pick a lane, people."
I was expecting compliments on the unique pants, because they are different, and I heard nothing all day. But then I was walking away from the receptionist and she called out "Cute Pants!" so I had to whirl around and come back to tell her the story of how I essentially bought them off the body of the Dillards' saleswoman.
That made me bold enough to wear them a few weeks later. This time the cashier at lunch and a stranger in the elevator liked them.
I wore again them last week, and perhaps I'm more confident, but the pants got compliments from another elevator stranger, and the new hiree.
When I walked off the elevator after compliment number one, and then new hiree said she liked the pants, I thought, "You have good taste, new hiree, and also I should learn your name, and why is it that every person who likes these pants is African-American?"
All black women: the receptionist on the first day I wore them, the cashier and the stranger the next time, and now another stranger, and the hiree. "That is weird," I thought, "But maybe my Caucasian friends are just too uptight to compliment these pants."
I performed demographic research the rest of the day. I encountered three more black friends: two liked the pants. I encountered at least five white women, none of them liked the pants, even when I swiveled my hips to make the pants dance and looked at them expectantly.
This of course made me love the pants more. I continued the experiment the next day. I theorized that perhaps white women just freak out if someone wears something non-conformist, so I wore my colorful kimono to work. One white man joked they wouldn't let him wear his robe to work, but then five white women, some strangers, said they liked it.
I wish I could say that I kept this to myself as it was happening, but I truly did quiz the last two black friends who liked the pants. They had no answers other than to indicate that I shouldn't get a complex about it.
I cannot wait to wear these pants again.