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Crucified on Topman’s sale rails


I have absolutely no idea why everyone isn’t talking about pleated men’s trousers. I don’t hear it wherever I go. People wazz on about how appropriate a warm goat’s cheese salad is as a starter for a relaxed dinner party, more than they talk about pleated men’s trousers. Which is straight up bonk-bonk. Everyone knows it’s all about sea bass ceviche.

I’m starting to think that only me and Australian label Perks and Mini are in any way concerned about the momentousness of pleats returning to puff out the tops of dude’s trousers again.


Flat-fronted trousers, jeans and shorts have been the mainstream and style-forward go-to for well over two decades now. I think bros have literally forgotten that the tops of trousers can ripple with pointless folded accordions of fabric.


Are they actually pointless though? Many thank yous for asking. No they’re not. When trousers are worn higher, with a longer rise (crotch to waistband measurement) like in the 80’s, pleats enable the fabric to follow the line of the body. Trousers worn lower (as they have been for some time) don’t need pleats because they don’t have to go out, then back in again.

Personally, I think these Peaks and Mini chinos are simply rocking the pleat detail as a non-conformist, progressive design thing – rather than the more practical necessity of teasing fabric around some bloated businessman’s brawny waist, arse and thighs. Either way, higher pleated trousers are starting to blow up in lady stores in London (which can often indicate a trend’s portability to the bromarket). While readers, such as you there, might have seen my pleated vintage chino purchase a while back.

Anyway, shit moves fast for those cursed with stylishness. It’s highly probable that by the time you’ve finished reading this post, pleated trousers will have already been worn to doom by some prominent X Factor bellpiece. By now, they’ve probably been crucified on Topman’s sale rails. I expect they’re now the trouser of choice for legions of punchy gel heads. They can wear them as they neck some tins, before their girls arrive, to come dine with them, you know, like off of the telly. And they can squirt on too much Lacoste L!VE. And they can flannel their knobs, in case they get lucky. And they can serve sea bass ceviche. With salad cream and Space Raiders.



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