When I was very young little girls still wore party pants. In those days the term meant ruffled underwear. We would don our dresses, often red, with sashes, smocking, white collars, and puffed sleeves piped in satin. Little Mary Janes on our feet. Nothing sparkled. But our underwear, ah, the underwear was ruffled and puffy. Heaven forbid the wind might blow up our skirts. Heaven forbid Chad or Mark or Greg might try to peek. The party pants protected us from vulnerable revelation.
Since we cast off the garments as teenagers, they did no real good.
These days, people go pantless on the subway. I am not appalled. Mores shift over time. Concepts of the human body, and personal privacy, are perhaps the most changed of today’s societal experiences. But a girl might still want some party pants. Something to wear in case Brian, or Kevin, or Chris were watching. Something on purpose. Something shiny.
The Cut says that shiny pants are the party garb of next fall.
I don’t know about metallics. Won’t know, in fact, until we’ve passed through another summer and face another autumn. Who knows whether metal will hold off the dogs of yet another winter? But I wouldn’t mind some new party pants. Not at all.
Flowered party pants, however, make a Sturdy Gal’s heart sing. Especially a V-shaped gal. We’re addicted to the cheery, we sturdy ones.
The Grande Dame would laugh. Silly Gal, these aren’t for parties, they are for lunches. Outdoor lunches, at that. The Artsy Cousin would wear them only borrowed from her sister, and paired with a contrasting tunic and embroidered slippers. And beads. Many beads.
But a Sturdy Gal would bring out her starched white shirt and Simple 70 Louboutins. And that every so practical Alexis Bittar set. She knows it’s plastic. Sometimes design trumps material.
Fall’s a long way off. Cheers to party pants, of all sorts.