Fashion Disasters

9 September 2025

The Fashion Scene is a shambolic mess.

At least in America it is.  I cannot speak for the European misses who might be missing out on whatever it is We Women are supposed to be going for.

I’m usually not going for it.

Every season of every year, it’s a conspiracy against the Female Sex, the so-called gentler sex, to hypnotize them into forking over more moolah for the boolah that’s being peddled as The Latest Trend, or What’s In.

I’m not one to be in, or out, when it comes to clothing my body.  I like classics, and some fun deviations from the basics.  The latest crop of clothes, though, for Autumn Attire, is not a testament to the loveliness of fashion, to the loveliness of anything.

The latest Trend is Harem Sweatpants.

Just for fun, I purchased a couple of pairs, on ginormous sale; and because I’ve never worn the Harem Look.  I’m not sure if the intent is for a gal to own her own empowerment-harem, or be part of one.  Whilst purchasing these items, I did recall my comment to a teen-aged male who wanted to know why I didn’t join the flock of floozies, gesticulating for any attention, seated at his feet in the College TV Lounge:

“I’m not gonna be part of your harem,” I stated flatly.

And I wasn’t.  My stance hurt his ego to no end, which suited me fine!

It was with that sassy sense of triumph that I pulled the trigger on this abundantly cotton fleece gal-garb.  I cannot say that I got fleeced on this very inexpensive ath-leisure look cause the quality is excellent, very excellent, for the price.  The Harem Pants of the 1990s, however, have most definitely morphed into the Harem Sweatpants; they’re just as atrocious, perhaps more so.

The fabric for sweats isn’t exactly flowing!  The effect is one of falling, heavily.

I had a pic taken of me, wearing my new sweatpants, in a happy shade of mocha.  There are, indeed, dismal nuances of mocha/taupe/coffee/café au lait (which I’ve seen spelled cafe olé).  I paired the bottoms with a burgundy tee-shirt and my cranberry Doc Martens oxfords.  I will not post the image.  I’ve deleted it.  The baggy-droopy drawers add at least 40 pounds, and when you’ve doggedly dropped the Covid 20, you’re still not ahead of flattening that curve!

I did consent to post a pic of the baggy-britches from the knee-down.

Femme Fashion in the States has gone from the obscenely tight Camel-toe of the past decade to the Harem Pants, from the 1990s, in Sweatsuit Form.  Midnight at the Oasis isn’t working for me!

If there is one fad that was an abomination in clothing, it’s the Harem Pant.  I never wore them.  I tried mightily not to witness pix of the crap-rap boyz in the hood who wore them, the vulgar, rich misogynists who are currently on trial, or are awaiting sentence, for all kinds of corruption and for crimes against womanity that got weaponized post-2016, U.S.A-time.

I understand the ping to that pong, sartorially-speaking.  Going from one extreme to the other is nonetheless a stupid strategy in any industry, profession, field, or even personal arena.  That elusive middle-ground keeps getting more elusive, and I am a person who does not abide being in the middle of anything!

Fashion Disasters might be the necessary phase of women, and girls, re-discovering how to dress for the success of being feminine.  Hauling out the ironing board and iron — or buying those implements of imaginative productivity — might become a trend!