A Pair of Pants

The next time you see me in three dimensions, I invite you to take a closer look. It’s not that I have suddenly altered my features. Regrettably I’m still not the Jon Hamm of the rabbinate. I’m rather the misshapen man I have always been: normal-ish torso, rounded shoulders, and legs slightly shorter than my chest would imply. Not only that, my left leg is more abbreviated than the right and one foot splays out like half a duck. Such is the nature of the genetic lottery.

The result is that nothing ever fits. I forgot to mention my borderline obesity which complicates my choices of shirts and jackets. In order to get the right drape over my belly, I’m forced to wear a large or an extra-large. That means that sleeves are always way too long and why you can see my fingers but not my wrists.

The real problems kick in when I try to buy pants. Before my bar mitzvah, my parents chose a suit that needed to be altered three different times. They finally dressed me in a sportscoat and pants which fit a little better but scandalized the congregation. The year was 1967 when you could still scandalize a congregation by wearing the wrong outfit. It’s hard to believe, but people actually talked about it.

The issue then (and now) was the question of rise: the distance between the waistband and the crotch. “Normal” bodies do just fine. You probably didn’t know it, but I am crotch-divergent. It means that a dangle of fabric accumulates down there, and clothing store pants look and feel all wrong. No matter where they come from, they look like they were made for someone else.

All of this is slightly exaggerated, but it continues to be a source of real discomfort. Imagine going to the closet every morning and having to wing it from the waist to the floor. I’ve tried alterations, Pants-for-Short-Men, and even looking into custom tailoring. That last option feels out of the question. Do you know what it costs to write up a special order for pants?

Which is why I decided to make my own. This is a longer story which I’ll tell one day, but the short version is that I come from tailors and dressmakers. My Ashkenazic hands know a few things about sewing and they itch to do craft work of every possible kind. I am a painstaking apprentice with an experienced tutor and my first pair of pants is a modest success. By this time next week, I’ll have a second pair: drawstring-style trousers unsuited for the office, but perfectly serviceable for my off-duty schedule. Yet another reason to be grateful for Life 2.0 and yet another experience of self-sufficiency.

So, the next time you see me, tell me what you think. My pants are nothing special, except for the rise. For the first time in my life, it is exactly right.