I’ve purchased a pair of cotton pantaloons. Shorten it to loon for clearly I am one for wanting such an antiquated, eccentric item in my wardrobe, especially during rationing! Whilst I was at it, I went ahead with reckless abandon and also purchased an all-cotton slip heaping with lace and romance and impracticality and Miss Havisham-ness. I have clearly lost the sense I was born with.
But wait! Are these items really as foolhardy as they appear? I’m going to argue that they are not. First of all, I’ve been a wearer of slips my entire life, and they have only gotten harder and harder to find over the years. Once you can find them, they are invariably made from nylon, which I want to get as far away from as possible. It’s sticky and hot and bad-artificial and pretty much the last thing you want to be wearing in the climate change summer we are about to have, and will most likely continue to be having (sigh).
So when I saw these glorious underthings at April Cornell, I couldn’t help but pine for them. When my last vintage slip came apart at the side in a very unfortunate way, I finally said, “to hell with already using half of my coupons and it’s only March! I’m going Laura Ingalls Wilder on this and getting my pantaloons!”
I feel good about getting away from sweaty ole nylon, supporting April Cornell and the artisans that make her designs, and finally, finally, finally getting a pair of pantaloons. My inner Little House reading child-self is happy, and my Victorian loving old novel reading adult-self is happy. I can’t wait to traipse about cool and comfortable, my clothing smooth and not see-through, and most importantly — I will be dripping with beauteous lace. No small thing! I think I would have been loony to buy another nasty nylon slip if you ask me!
Slips are 4 coupons, so I’m thinking pantaloons will be 4 coupons too. So — a slip and a pair of pantaloons are 8 coupons.
23 out of 66 (!)