My Desperate, Stupid, Emotional Hunt for the Perfect Pants

This is an article that is just funny to read, even though I am not (I have to admit) all that nostalgic for the jeans of my childhood, which seem a lot like the jeans of today to me. (I will admit to considerable nostalgia for the size of jeans I used to wear in my twenties.)

But admire this paragraph:

The clerk helping me was a chubby fellow with a handlebar mustache. I have no patience for contemporary handlebar mustaches. They anger me. They look indulgent and ridiculous. If you have a handlebar mustache, that is pretty much all you are. You are a delivery system for a handlebar mustache. I saw a guy in Brooklyn once with a handlebar mustache, pierced ears, a fedora hat and jodhpurs. He was a collage of sartorial attempts at evading himself. It looked as if he were interrupted during a shave in the mid-1850s and had to grab some clothes and dress quickly while being chased through a time tunnel.

Now that . . . that . . . is a perfect paragraph. Silly, of course, but perfect.

If you read the whole thing, you will find, perhaps not much to your surprise, that the author is not actually taking himself all that seriously.

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