The Day I Lost My Faith in Humanity: Pajama Jeans

It's just true: humans are getting lazier. And what's more, we as a species are just fine with that.

Now, don't get me wrong...There's nothing wrong with a spot of sloth once in awhile. Not being too big a fan of organized religion, I realize there's no such thing as "sin," much less seven deadly ones. All work and no play makes Jack Nicholson go apeshit nuts. I'd be hypocritical if I said otherwise, being as I am a man who appreciates the fair bit of leisure himself. Those highballs sure as shit ain't gonna drink themselves any more than the call girls are going to have sex with themselves.

(Well...wait. I mean, sometimes they do. It just runs you a little extra. But, I digress inexcusably.)

So, yes. Kicking back on occasion is just fine. But there is a LINE. A line at which a little R&R ceases to be the exception, and becomes a lifestyle. A line at which down time becomes ALL the time. A line that, once crossed, means people have just given the fuck up, and said, "Bring on the Comfort Wipe and Obesity Scooter, for I have decided I'd like a little blood in my butter-stream."

And that line is just a little closer today. Behold: "Pajama Jeans."


This is not a joke product, nor is it an SNL spoof. Things really actually have reached the point that this is a needed product. There really is a call for sweatpants...that look like jeans. And I guess anyone with eyes has probably figured that out by now. We've all stood in line at Target behind the woman in Crocs and garish flannel pajama pants. The one who did her hair with an eggbeater three weeks ago and hasn't touched it since. You know the one: she's wearing a Jeff Gordon NASCAR jacket, smells like room-temperature brie, and is buying a case of Mallomars and a few 2-liters of Dr. Pepper.

Hey, at least she matches. So she's doing better than most.

I'm not really sure how, or when this happened. It wasn't ALWAYS that way. Used to be, men didn't leave the house without wearing 27 pounds' worth of a wool three-piece suit, and women knew the neighbors would talk if they were seen out and about without at least a pinafore dress and full sleeves. Plus, they had HATS ON. And SHOES. Shoes that required SHINING.

And I'm not one of these cultural revisionists who thinks that the good old days were universally good, that "Leave It To Beaver" and "Ozzie and Harriet" reflect some cultural ideal that society ought to strive to get back to. "Mad Men" may be celebrated as a delicious slice of throwback, but let's face it: the whole era was chock full of sexual harassment, gender inequity, repressed sexuality, spousal abuse, and more than a little lung cancer. But FUCK, they looked good while all that shit was going on under the surface! There was no occasion too small; none that didn't require a sharp mode of dress, a put-together flair, and an air of class and sophistication. People may have been uptight and miserable, but at least they had style.

In fact, here is a picture of my grandparents on their way to the greengrocer's.

Then, somewhere along the line, Jeans became acceptable. Okay, fine. Then, people started wearing them to work on Fridays. Then, every day. Up to this point, I'm still okay with this, because there is a big, fat line between "casual" and "slovenly." It's possible to look composed, and still be comfortable.

However, at what point did it become acceptable for people to just roll out of bed, and then GO RIGHT STRAIGHT THE FUCK OUTSIDE?!? Sweatsuits are supposed to be workout gear, motherfucker. If I see you in a sweatsuit, your ass had better be in a gym parking lot. However, based on the fact that your spare tire looks like it came off of a piece of heavy mining equipment, I'm gonna guess you wouldn't be caught DEAD (and I mean that literally) anywhere that close to a place where there are working treadmills.

Exhibit F: "The exception that proves the rule."

I dunno. It's possible that I'm seeing this the wrong way. I'm willing to allow that perhaps the inventors of "Pajama Jeans" aren't exactly encouraging lethargy, but rather condemning it. Maybe they're just cynical enough to REALLY be saying, "Here, you lazy pieces of shit. If you're just going to waddle directly out of your bedroom in the same getup you went to sleep in, the LEAST you can do is to put THESE on. That way I don't have to deal with looking at your fucking spaceship PJ's or filthy track suit." It's wholly within the realm of plausibility that jammy-jeans are largely motivated by a "for-chrissakes-at-least-meet-us-halfway" attitude that says if you're not going to make the effort to BE presentable, the LEAST you can do is to try to LOOK presentable. To provide a reasonable facsimile of human dignity that holds up under cursory scrutiny, and maybe even score a couple of bucks of profit in the bargain.

However, my curse of raw pragmatism shapes my illusory free will, and dictates my reaction. And that is: anything that makes it easier for the whole of Western society to continue its long, slow, de-evolutionary slide into a giant, shiny pile of utter pudding-sacks who never need to bother being besotted by anything so base as discomfort or strenuous activity MUST be decried as being "part of the problem."

That said, I have to knock off. It's getting pretty close to lunchtime.