I feel like I just said goodbye to you, dear friend.
Some say that The Kentucky Derby marks the first day of summer. Some will also tell you that the Summer Solstice actually marks the first day of summer, but those are also the people who get bent out of shape when someone puts lemonade in their water cup and refuse to cross the street unless the sign specifically tells them to walk. Others compromise and use Memorial Day as their signal that summer has officially arrived.
But not me. There’s a defining event that separates spring from summer. Much like the first snowflake signifies that winter is overcoming fall, and the first fallen leaf closes the door on summer, this event is season specific. It turns the tide of the spring and ushers you directly into everyone favorite season – summer.
It’s not when the snowbanks melt. It’s not when you see the first buds forming on trees. And it’s not the moment when you realize it’s warm enough to simply wear shorts instead of the pants that have been plaguing you since September.
No, it’s more than that – it’s the first time you see someone of the fairer sex sporting white pants for the first time.
Sure, we love the hunter green and deep navy that come with fall, the black and browns that characterize winter fashion. But there’s something about the seasonality of white pants that ushers in the warm feelings and memories of summer’s past. The pants that we said farewell to after Labor Day have now emerged from their hibernation and are surrounding all of us. In the wild, they can be seen everywhere – getting coffee, at brunch, rehearsal dinners, cookouts.
Some men? They’re “yoga pants” guys. Others prefer a pair of cutoff jean shorts, or “daisy dukes” for those in the know. There’s even a contingent of sundress connoisseurs and palazzo pants aficionados emerging on the scene. But much like Bo Derek or Christie Brinkley, there’s a timeless beauty to a pair stiff, starched white jeans that will always catch the eye of innocent onlookers. There’s a mystery that surrounds them. There’s a tacit understanding that a pair of white pants somehow accentuate everything that’s right about the female figure. Fortunately for me, it’s not my job to understand how or why they do it. That would be like asking why the sky is blue or why boobs are good – they just are, as Joe Dirt would tell you.
I understand that some tastemakers maintain that white pants can be worn during the course of any season while traditionalists will insist they can only be worn between Memorial Day and Labor Day. But much like there’s no greener green than the outfield at spring training, white pants never look quite as white as when they’re taken out of their packaging and worn between May and July. There’s an undeniable charm that makes you feel the emotions of the season whenever they’re in your presence. Their bright color, their slimming nature, their festive feel, the fact that they “go with everything.” They’re… they’re perfect.
Or, perhaps it’s their danger that attracts us to them. The fact that one slip of an ice cream cone can cause you to say, “Honey, we need to go home.” Or the fear of a rambunctious dog putting their dirt-filled paws on them when all they’re looking for is some scratches around the ears. Or even the fear of sitting down on a dirty lawn chair, only to stand up and see they’ve been soiled by dirty rain that came the night before.
At the end of the day, I don’t care what makes them attractive. It’s rare in life to find beauty in something that’s unlimited. When quantity takes over quality, things tend to lose their sexiness and allure. With every July sun that sets, you know that there’s a brevity to White Pants Season. It’s a ticking time bomb that doesn’t end in destruction, just an absence of purity in the everyday wardrobes of the women we love.
With open arms and wide eyes, I welcome you, White Pants Season. It’s great having you back. .
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