The 1976 Trouser Famine

They say that when you die all the trousers you’ve ever owned flash past. In Derek’s case this happened every day. At forty three years old, he was still an active trouser buyer, and his collection was ever growing.

Tonight Derek was meeting Hilary. He noted from her web entry that she was a big fan of The Damned, found out when their first single was released, and went straight into his seventies room. But where was the 1976 rack? It was nowhere to be seen. He’d been fifteen in 1976 and, if anything, had increased his trouser buying in an attempt, along with the care and nurture of his fluffy Zappa moustache, to attract girls.

He rummaged through the other racks. Maybe he had combined it with another year? But there was no sign. He wondered whether his mother had been moving things about, and shuddered, remembering the time she de-alphabetized his packet soups.

This gap in the collection was a devastating blow, not only to his meeting with Hilary. The integrity of his whole curatorial policy would be undermined if he didn’t find 1976. 1976 was an exceptionally interesting year for trousers. It was on the cusp of glam-rock and punk, between baggy flares and drainpipes. It was one of those years (and you only get this phenomenon once or twice a decade) where there was a transitional trouser – in this case, a cut somewhere between a baggy leg and a slim drainpipe. It had been ingenious and could pass for baggy from the front and drainpipe from the side. Derek had owned two pairs of these, as well as various northern soul parallels and several slim cut Wranglers later in the year when punk was really taking off.

He riffled through 1975, but it was no use; some checked oxford bags he’d worn with platforms and stripy socks, and some stay-pressed which shimmered when viewed from different angles. 1977 was no better, with its bondage trousers and tartan straight legs. None of these would do. Hilary would notice immediately- a few weeks either way could give you away in the late seventies, trouser fashion moved at such a relentless pace.

Later that night he found himself humming New Rose whilst he organised his apple stickers. The evening had gone well. When he’d stood up to shake her hand Hilary had looked down at his legs and gasped. She had been amazed at so much attention to detail. In fact, it was an even better effect than if he had managed to find the right trousers. She’d been so overwhelmed with emotion that she couldn’t continue with the date.

He smiled, thinking of the old Derek charm winding her in. Debenhams, 1976 – the power of the Y-front.