Boys and girls, I was born in America and generally claim or deny my heritage in accordance with the political climate and how much or little Paris Hilton is making a fool of herself in the international news. But now I must break the silence on something that's been bothering me a long time.
What follows is an open letter to American males between the ages of 18 and 65. British men, ignore or take notes as you see fit. Some of this might apply, but do not be offended if some pop culture references escape you.
What's up, bros? How's it goin? I've got a little bone to pick with you and I thought maybe we could figure this out.
Let's just come out with it: What in the blue heck is wrong with your pants? (British men: I am using the American definition of pants and do not concern myself with your undergarments.)
My problem is not with the cost of your denim trousers, so please don't try to name drop your way out of this. That means you too, frat guys. I know I speak for more than just myself when I beg you to put half as much effort into picking your jeans as you do planning the lineup for your fantasy football team.
To solve your problems, I have kindly divided your sartorial problem into three areas: waist, leg room and length.
Let's start with that waist, yes? I once went out with a guy who probably could have fit in my jeans, yet he would buy pants that could fit Kris Kringle in his slightly skinnier off-season and wear one of several hideous belts to cinch the miles of extra fabric.
Please remember that this is not OK. If you're wearing a belt, stand up and remove it. There you go. Now start playing some smooth jazz. Just kidding. If your pants fell down after the belt came off, or if you can now reach one or both of your arms inside the waistband, you're thinner than you thought. Your nearest fashion retail associate can assist you with finding a smaller size.
Problem two is leg room. Your jeans should not be so tight that someone confuses you with Pete Wentz on a bad day, but they should maintain some contact with your bod. This will mean they take longer to get off, but more girls will check you out while they are on. On a related note, the carpenter jean is never OK.
Finally, jeans come in different lengths. This matters. No one wants to know how ample your leg hair is when you sit down, nor do they want to trip on one of your ratty threads when your jeans are too long. Dogs poo on the sidewalk, and drunks throw up there. Do you want to decorate your clothes with that?
What has made me think of this age-old problem, dear men, is a fine member of your species called L'Homme. This would be the French man, and if you keep acting the way you do, natural selection will take over and you will become extinct.
The French men I spotted on my way to and from the couture shows in Paris did not have these problems. Even the trinket salesman who proposed to me near the Eiffel Tower had better dress sense than a good deal of you. I think you see where I am going with this.
Please address these problems at your earliest convenience. I should hope that the next time I fly to North America I will be able to tell if you have been hitting the gym or not.