Elastic Shorts.

Look, I’m no fashionista. I barely know what the fall colors are this season, I still have shirts from freshman year of college, and I can’t figure out what makes them “cigarette pants.” So it isn’t a judgment of style.

It’s just a sheer fact: elastic shorts give me lastima. I know, guys, I know they’re comfy! I get it, they stretch. But that’s the thing, that’s their selling point - extension. Like we’re planning on eating everything at the buffet. Like we can’t commit to the restrictions of a button. Like we need the option of expansion so desperately, even in our clothing.

Maybe it’s the fabric, the limp, feeble cloth often attached to that off-white circle which hugs your waist. You can pull it and squeeze it and it will change, then ooze back to its original shape. And maybe that’s the cause of my heartache - the giving up on a fixed form. The permission to draw out and let go. I should think of it as a good thing - freedom!

But I know the elastic leaves a mark around your center. I know you can just slide those suckers off like you’re in a strip show. I know that when you just don’t care, these shorts are a security blanket. I know because I have my own pair, which I slip on and cry. What I don’t know is if A-Line dresses are in vogue or not.

p.s. Orange? Is orange fashionable?!