In the spirit of the Seinfeld banter going on between “Cosmo” and I (below), I have to say, “what’s the deal with pants shopping?” I had what I thought was a very simple assignment last Friday night: go to Men’s Wearhouse to buy a pair of black slacks. I hadn’t owned a regular pair of black pants in years and I needed a pair for an affair which I had to attend the next evening. I proceded to bounce around to no less than half a dozen stores, but at no point was I more in danger of being dragged out of the mall by a plastic cop in a Smokey the Bear hat than when I was browsing in Banana Republic.
Apparently, the Republic likes to keep their trouser prices a secret. Or maybe they think the thrill of the chase only enhances one’s shopping experience, like a scavenger hunt. I nearly tore a pair of pants to shreds when I couldn’t find the price tag. I’m tensing up just reliving that moment.
Hmmm…these aren’t bad. How much do they cost? Is the price printed on this tag hanging down in front? No, that’s not it.
Is it printed on this little envelope here? No, that’s where the spare buttons go. Is it hidden inside the little button envelope? No, good try, though.
Is it tucked into the hip pockets? No. Back pockets? Wrong again.
If you have to remove the pants from the hanger and rifle through them just to find the price, there’s a problem. Since I nearly fell over when I finally did find the price, maybe Banana Republic’s (and about a handful other stores’) point is that if you have to look, you can’t afford them. I will now be accepting applications for a personal assistant – just don’t reveal my pants size to the paparazzi.
I heard that you were a ’32′ but cross out the ’2′ and make it look like you were a ’31′
That’s why I’ve decided to give up on wearing pant altogether.