Could I offer you a whorehouse tank top?
Or perhaps a brothel skirt?
NO? But you’ll buy a harem pant?
Trust me, it’s not just the name I disagree with. It’s the entire thing.
This is not my first time around with harem pants. I will admit to wearing them as a 13-year-old girl. They were white, jersey knit, with a chain that draped across the front of the waistband. I wore them with a blue and white striped shirt with attached white vest. I was quite proud of this ensemble. While all around me were wearing their stirrup pants, I was sporting a different style entirely.
This time, however, it’s like harem pants on CRACK. Mine were comfortable, but my goodness, there is no need for a gigantic, saggy crotch in one’s pants. These girls could be smuggling adult diapers beneath! I guess that does make them the perfect choice for the incontinent, but other than that, they have no redeeming value. Some have taken the crotch to an extreme, making it more like a closed-up skirt with feet holes. Or, by another name, a hobble.
I fear the harem pant. I don’t want to wear it, I don’t want to see it. If you’re not Barbara Eden, walk past them. At a quick clip.