Despite the fact that my New Year's style resolution was to continue my breakneck, torrid pace of conspicuous consumption, I recently found myself taking inventory of my wardrobe. At the not-so optional behest of my better half—who, ironically, had been allotted less than half of our communal closet space—I was implored to, in her words, Get rid of a bunch of [my] shit. As you can imagine, I wasn't particularly psyched on the prospect of de-hoarding, but I'm beyond thankful I shut my mouth and complied with my commanding officer. And not just because my old man back is too fragile to be slumbering on the sofa. Nope, what I discovered was something much bigger than simply avoiding the dissolution of a nearly 6-year relationship built on love, trust and respect: trousers.

Yes, tucked away in the farthest recesses of my archive (what a cool guy calls his Ikea armoire) was a brand new pair of Lemaire trousers with the tags still attached. Being the man of the people that I am, one who knows that nobody who shops at Goodwill gives a shit about minimal French basics, I immediately tried them on and was struck with just how perfect they were and, presumably, always had been. That was five days ago and I am pleased to report that I have not taken them off since.

Anyone paying attention to fashion these days knows that trousers, a somewhat anachronistic holdover from the peak #menswear days, are having a moment. From the Parisian runways to SoHo skater kids, it seems like everyone is remembering at the same damn time that a great pair of trousers are a classic staple for a reason. Sure, your destroyed denim has stories to tell and your tactical cargos are apocalypse ready, but there's just something about a casual pair of trousers that can't be matched. Whether slim and cropped, or easy and tapered like the Lemaire joints I'm wearing as I type this, there's the perfect pair out there just begging to become your everyday go-to.

It's wild to think that something as simple as an innocuous pair of pants can give you a completely new lease on style, but I'm living proof. I can't guarantee that you'll find God in some black or navy wool like I have, but you won't know until you try. Maybe it's just the drawstring elastic waist talking, but goddamn do I feel cozier than a motherfucker. Won't you join me?

Photo via Oh Anthonio.

Tags: pants, opinion