pants pains

So I went out the other day to go clothes shopping. The significance of this can only be understood by taking into account my usual shopping habits. I normally don't go shopping. I like to think that I have everything. There might be quite a few things I'd like to have and some that I really want, but I'm not beset by actual needs.

Statistics announcing slowing retail sales progression and consumers' reluctance to part with their money make me smile. To me, maybe naively optimistic, this indicates that others have also reached this state of material bliss, that they have opened their eyes to the fact that blind consumption is not the key to happiness, that the only effect buying more things has is cluttering your home. I live in a small apartment, and it's been full for a long time.

Sadly, I've had to part with at least three pairs of pants over the last few months. Riding to work means rubbing of thighs against the bike seat, and doing this every morning causes steady damage to the garment. The fabric becomes increasingly thin, up to a point when it rips. At first, a thin hole opens, but soon it starts to gape. Because of the ergonomics particular to cycling, this happens inevitably right below my buttocks. Not even the toughest jeans last more than five years. As my last purchase dates from about half a decade ago, a shopping spree became unavoidable.

On Saturday, I set out to refill my closet, first in Camden Town, then on Oxford St. I was quickly reminded why this is not one of my favorite pastimes. The quantity of T-shirts out there is stunning. To buy one hundred, one would have to select by the most stringent of criteria. Pants is a different story altogether. There were hardly any at Camden Town, and most stores on Oxford St. had only size 30 and up. I'd have to eat a lot to fill that. I was also struck by the fact that waists often came in even sizes only. These are national and sometimes international chain stores and they only stock every other size. Shouldn't it be possible, with globalized economics of scale and cheap sweatshop labor around the world, to make pants in every size the Western consumer could possibly want?

Towards the end of a long day, with one lonely pair in my bag, I made my way down to the recently opened Banana Republic store in town, more to see than to buy. The store is the first not only in London but in the whole of Europe, a true flagship, occupying a lavish building on Regent St. and marketed strictly towards the posh. I quickly found my way to the pants shelves and was disappointed on three counts: They had only one line of casual chinos, it sold for forty pounds and, the definite deal-breaker, started at waist 30. My closet at home is better stocked than that, but it's still sadly low on jeans.