Dear friend,
Remember those casual parties we attended during the gentle days of summer? Those cookouts? The golf scrambles? Those ballgames? Remember how orderly you made me look last Fourth of July on that rooftop?
Grand times, friend.
Sadly, change is coming. And it's coming for you. You no longer give me what they can. Who are they? They are the vibrant class. The salmons, the teals, oranges, greens, royal blues and pale yellows. The millennial generation of casual shortwear.
It hurts me like a scabbard, but today I must abandon our alliance. You've had a phenomenal run. From wedding rehearsals, to cookouts, to sporting events, you've clothed my legs creaseless and made me appear super-intelligent. But it's 2014, and now you project about as much intrigue as a Creed live album. You've become the new olive drab. We're in a world growing more dynamic by the minute, yet you remain colorless and mute. And that's why I need to make the change.
Don't get me wrong, friend. I think you're neat. And you make people think that I read books. But this isn't an attack on your character. It's the reinvention of mine. I need a spark that can only come from vivid twill. Casual shorts that reflect my casual personality, something that shows people I can go beyond my own beige borders, slip into something tangerine, and totally kill it.
Trends come and go, live and die, evolve and dissipate. And sometimes they resurrect. Which is why I'm sure your noble body of work may rise as reference to revive you someday. But that someday is not now, and what I want now is to express myself throughout the spectrum.
If we can clone a sheep and make a low-fat variety of mayonnaise, then I have no doubt that we can reimagine the khaki short. But until then I am retiring you in storage, alongside a dusty collection of cargo pants. May they give you comfort in these isolated times, and possibly a slight ego boost knowing that at least you're not them.
Because cargo pants are never coming back.
Sincerely,
Jerry Landry