Mid-day, I sent a photo of my outfit to my friend Emma, who wrote back, “Logistical questions: spandex underneath? Ass sweat?” For the latter, thankfully not! Sitting down at my desk for most of the day yielded no problems, save for my shorts riding up, but I felt painfully self-aware of my pantlessness come lunchtime. Lunch tends to be a social event, but today I braved the Condé Nast cafeteria alone to scarf down some food before a call. I found myself in a sea of men in business attire, nary a fellow writer or fashion editor in sight. While (almost) anything goes on the editorial floor, I couldn’t help but notice the eyes of these confused suits linger on me as I strolled by, presumably wondering where the hell my pants went.
I did feel slightly frustrated looking at the photos of my outfit, wondering why I didn’t have the effortlessness of Kendall Jenner’s look. It reminded me of that meme, “what you ordered versus what you got.” (Once again, I was cruelly reminded that I am not one of my generation’s highest-paid models.)
If I were to try this look again, or if I could pass on any advice to the pantless-curious, I would first and foremost aim to avoid the ’80s movie cosplay. To do this, I would definitely opt for a bigger, longer shirt that was not white, and I’d also aim to wear bottoms with some more coverage. I still do find it quite cute, and I salute anyone who wants to go for it. It’s just not for me.
