My senior year, we were told to write something on fashion. I came up with this handy exhortation — which, I should add, applied to absolutely zero of the gents in my class.
The “in” thing for a guy to do is to wear your pants so low that you could start a fire with the friction from the extra fabric rubbing between your legs, and then to try to walk, get in and out of your car, and — God forbid — squat down like normal.
I’ve seen tattoos in the smalls of hairy backs, I’ve seen moles that need to come off, I’ve even seen Winnie-the-Pooh boxers. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to go up to the teenage boy with his jeans around his hips, just daring gravity to do the rest, and say, “Let me help you with that.” Yank! I mean, if five inches of boxers bunched up above a sagging waist band is good, then surely a foot of boxers (or however long they are) is better.
You see, the two key words of underwear are wear (meaning you do) and under (meaning where I can’t see them). In a few more years, they’ll have to start selling underwear in the outerwear section of the store.
The only thing worse than wearing your unders on the outer is when you let them ride as low as your jeans. I mean, girls have always sported cleavage, but now the guys are starting to do it to, but they can’t do it in the front, so they have to do it in the back.
So pull them up — jeans, boxers, Winnie-the-Pooh, et al — and stop showing off like a plumber in training.