When I first became aware of the pantsless trend, I was ambivalent about it. I’ve always loved how Ann Margaret looked pantsless—so much that I went to an Andy Warhol-themed party last winter and almost left my pants off to imitate Edie Sedgewick, who famously eschewed pants. (Did Sedgewick even own pants?) Alas, I chickened out and wore black leather pedal pushers. More recently, when I’ve been tempted, going pantsless hasn’t seemed practical. Maybe it is if you’re Kristen Stewart promoting a movie about female power, or Kendall Jenner and your legs are an actual mile long. But I’m a regular person with regular legs. And with the exception of Aiyana Ishmael’s shattering success recreating Bella Hadid’s most famous pantsless outfit, I hadn’t seen many regular people going pantsless.
Then, scrolling through the Lacoste x EleVen by Venus Williams collection, I happened upon a look that tipped the scales: a matching set of ribbed cotton blend briefs and a fitted ribbed sweater. Pantsless fashion designed for tennis-oriented leisure!
I began to see the trend in a new light: perhaps pantslessness conferred an athletic advantage. Gymnasts don’t wear pants; they tumble and leap and soar, pantless. Most dancers: no pants. Swimmers: no pants. Competitive sprinters, triathletes, volleyball players: no pants on them either!
As someone who plays an embarrassing amount of tennis, I wondered, What if the path to an improved game lay in stripping down? Might pantslessness be better for tennis than the gear I currently wear? I bought the full look. Well, almost the full look. On the Lacoste website, Venus Williams wears it with a maroon blazer. But I don’t play like Venus or look like Venus; I play and look more like Andy Kaufman. I passed on the blazer, worried it would highlight any resemblance.
When the package arrived on a warm spring afternoon, I tore it open and ran to try it on, returning to the kitchen without a glance in my full-length mirror. “You can always return it,” my seven-year old offered. My husband fell off his chair laughing. Discouraged, I retreated upstairs for a hard, honest look. In front of the mirror, I concluded the obvious: even for athletics, pantslessness demands accessories. I rummaged through my son’s drawer and came up with a pair of neon green knee-high socks—a match for a stripe on the ribbed ensemble. I pulled up my hair, put on sunglasses, and picked up my racket. I couldn’t tell whether any of this improved the outfit, but it provided the impetus I needed to ignore the calumny of my family and head to the local outdoor courts.