Of Baggy Pants and Staple Guns

[In honor of Mayor Nutter’s speech, I am reposting one of my first entries made years ago, before the Comfy Couch became the Comfy Couch]
Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t get it. What is it with the baggy pants that accost me every time I go out in public? I remember when it started as just a few inches of boxers showing above the waistband. “Okay,” I thought, “not too bad.” But leave it to the testosterone-afflicted teenage boys to push the envelope. It wasn’t too long before the boxers stopped rising and the pants started falling. The “style” changed to low on the hips to very low on the hips and continued to progress southward until they were on and over the butt. Now the pants are no longer pants, but leg warmers. Leg warmers held in place by one hand, usually over the crotch, which is the only thing that keeps the leg warmers from becoming ankle shackles. And now I see women, even a middle-aged woman, following this “fashion”.
I understand that fashion must change in order to keep its followers feeling “fresh” and “cool” and “broke”. But when did fashion go from attractive and interesting to stupid AND offensive? I compare the leg warmer “fashion” to the old skirts that women were required to wear a hundred years ago or thereabouts. They reached the ground and in some cases, restricted movement. I’m sure they kept the women hot. I watch old westerns and see the women wearing long skirts and long sleeves as they cooked in non-air conditioned kitchens (which had no flies, if you notice), or as they hoed their gardens in the sweltering heat of summer, and my personal body temperature would instantly rise about 3 degrees. Perhaps there was an advantage to wearing long sleeves and skirts of which I am unaware. While both styles were not terribly functional, the skirt-wearers at least were not offending anyone. They were being considerate of others.
Leg warmers, however, are designed to shock, to enrage, to offend the sensibilities. They shout “Look at me!” as the wearers appear to fondle themselves as they make futile attempts to keep their pants from falling about their ankles. As a fashion statement, the baggy pants phenomenon is more than idiotic, more than surpasses bad taste – it is impractical and dangerous.
When working with teenagers at my church, I had a rule: no underwear of any kind was to be exposed (keeping the meaning of “UNDERwear” true). And pants would be fastened about the waist, either with a belt, suspenders, or – if necessary – rope that I would furnish myself. I also threatened to use a staple gun if necessary to attach the offending clothing to the appropriate body parts. (As a matter of fact, a few well-placed staples from a staple gun would solve a lot of social ills, but I digress.) The last thing I needed was to have a teenager running to first base in a softball game and falling flat on his face because his pants tripped him up. A few broken noses later, maybe someone would get the message, but I was in no mood to be offended nor sued. I had more important things to do, such as building character and leadership and reverence for God.
What happens if a thug attempts to take what little cash is left after purchasing said baggy pants, $200 sneakers, gold chains, and loud car stereos that shake my floorboards as said car cruises slowly down my street? The baggy pantser must choose from among the following: (1) fight one-handed and get beaten up, (2) grab pants with both hands in a probably futile attempt to outrun the perp (who is likely wearing sensibly fitting pants and has both hands free to hold either a knife or gun), (3) opt to use both hands to defend himself – but no feet, as the leg warmers are now around his ankles and restricting his movement, or (4) simply give the perp the few dollars he has left after buying his status symbols, and then get beaten up because he has so little left.
I believe the outcome is inevitable. As in Darwinian evolutionary theory, only the fittest survive. This includes pants and their victims owners.
I know not what others feel about the situation, but I am firmly for pants that fit about the waist. I do not care to know what your underwear looks like. I really don’t care to see if your momma has washed them thoroughly. I am not interested in checking out your gastric health by reviewing your backside against my will. I am not impressed with the smooth curves of your buttocks. I am more impressed with the character you display than the silky flow of your boxers. Put my focus where it counts. Make me look you in the eye and listen to what comes out of your oral orifice; not at your butt and…well, you get the idea.