I recently formed a theory with a friend that a wardrobe feels destabilized when it doesn’t orbit a go-to black pant — an “everything pant” — which means mine’s been limping along since the day I retired my matte-black cotton-blend Citizens of Humanity Avedon skinny jeans somewhere in the 2010s. Those were simpler times, the era of the going-out top, when a day-to-night transformation only entailed swapping out a flowy blouse for something sleeveless and a bit more severe. I have been in pursuit of my next die-hard wardrobe cornerstone ever since and decided to get serious about it this spring, perhaps in square opposition to what’s shaping up to be a pedal-pusher summer.
My criteria for my elusive black pants: They look good, feel good, and have a chameleonic quality that makes them just as at home at the office as they are at a Mets game, first date, or spontaneous late-night excursion to Bemelmans Bar. Otherwise, I’m pretty agnostic on style and shape. As for the flattery metric, I am five-foot-nine with thighs that would make it through at least one round of casting for a music video, what in the ’90s they’d call “childbearing hips,” and ankles I’d like to grant more airtime — all of which tends to pose a proportional puzzle.
