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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.
My selection of opponents was strategic. The friend I’d be playing is a therapist. If she did pass judgment on my attire, at least she had practice hiding it. But at the courts, racquet over my shoulder and a can of balls in hand, I froze. Our tennis courts are on school property, and there was a baseball game underway at the adjacent diamond. Was it legal to go pantsless near a school? I quickly restored logic to my thinking: Pantslessness is mesmerizing because it’s not the just absence of pants, it’s the presence of whatever replaces them. My son, who had insisted on coming, noticed a young girl hitting with her father on one of the courts, wearing a pair of Daisy Dukes. “Look, Mama,” he said, pointing. “Someone else with no pants!” Taking my knee high socks into account, I was actually showing less leg than many of my fellow outdoor players. I was just showing a different part of mine.
Unable to ignore the stares directed at me from a court next to ours, I found my confidence wavering. I felt outlandish. I reminded myself that part of fashion is being the subject of a gaze. Then, a matter more pressing demanded my attention. In my anxiety about being arrested, I’d neglected to consider the necessity of ball storage. No pants means no pockets. I invoked my sartorial ancestors–those carefree women who blazed the path of pantslessness. Edie Sedgewick and Kendall Jenner wouldn’t be deterred, and neither was I! I delicately tucked one ball under the lower band of each leg opening, at my outer thigh. Visually, the effect was very Oompa Loompa, but as we began to rally, the convenience of the solution was apparent. Having two balls at just the right height, without any of the groping necessitated by tennis skirts and tennis shorts, I transitioned between points more quickly. As the game picked up I couldn’t help but notice how being minimally clad kept me from fidgeting. There was no excess material to get stuck or to snag. I felt unencumbered and agile (for a 46-year old.) I don’t know if I played better, but I was conscious of a certain plucky insouciance.
The following days brought rain, and I considered donning my tennis briefs for a weeknight game of indoor doubles. It was cold out, though, so I chose spandex. Later that week, for a singles match, again indoors, I packed my no-pants to change into. But entering the brightly lit tennis hangar after walking through a dark parking lot made me want more of a barrier between me and the world, not less; I stayed in track pants.
The weather has brightened again, and I’ve already decided that for my return to outdoor courts, I’m going pantsless. It’s not conventional tennis wear, but that’s half of what makes playing without pants so freeing. It’s comfortable and convenient and playful. I’m sticking with no pants on the court—at least when it strikes my fancy.