DIANA REPUBLIC

I have decided that I must have been in the military in a former life. I am categorically obsessed with cargo pants. I just love them. It seems to have been the only carryover from my previous life as an army grunt because I hate guns and have real issues with authority. It would appear that only the attire made an impression on me.

I currently own three pairs of long, three pairs of Capri length and a couple pairs of cargo shorts. That should be enough for anyone, right? Then why do I find myself lingering on catalogue pages that feature them and, like a magnet, drawn to them in the stores?

If not my reincarnation theory then I am afraid I can’t say what the attraction is. I do enjoy the storage factor. When attending sporting events I will wear them so I can forgo the dreaded purse search line. Seriously who brings their Prada to a Cubs game? Have you seen some of these women dressed to the nines with luggage sized purses? White Sox Park may look sort of like a mall, but it isn’t.

Sorry I digress – the cargo pant thing. They are not particularly flattering: the number and placement of pockets make pooches appear where there aren’t any. And the most common colors are khaki and drab green (my personal favorite) both of which can wash out even the rosiest complexions. Some do come in a draw string waist style which is a really comfortable feature. But the bottom line is these are not hottie girl pants – these are utilitarian boy pants. They are made to be worn while belly crawling under barded wire. And we all know that is not something that I am likely to do.

I bought my first pair of cargo pants before they were called cargo pants. That was a million years ago in high school and that, my reincarnation theory aside, might be part of the appeal now. In truth they may just be a physical symbol of my arrested development and maybe I actually was a princess in my former life, which is much far more likely.