He's the hottest senior citizen in town (aside from Sean Connery, of course). After making four decades of women swoon, he's well into capturing a fifth. A swing of his hips conveys as much energy and sex appeal as you'd find in a 20-year-old. He dates models. He marries models. He's nothing short of a living legend. He is, of course, the one, the only, the legendary -- Mick Jagger.
So you probably already knew all that. But today's $64 question is a bit trickier: What do Mick Jagger and I have in common?
Well, it's not age. And thankfully, it's not frenzied throngs of female fans. His hips are the size of a pre-pubescent girls' -- mine, on the other hand, are more representative of a college gal who enjoys the occasional late night order of pokey sticks. And though I've dated some cute guys, I don't expect to see any of them on a Calvin Klein billboard anytime soon.
But still, Mick and I have a bond. A link. A bona fide connection. And no, it's not Steven Tyler lips.
It's leather -- leather pants, that is. We both know that there's no better way to unleash your inner rock star than to squeeze yourself into a pair of hip-hugging, can-I-even-sit-down-in-these, of-course-I'd-never-wear-any-color-other-than-black leather pants. They're guaranteed to drive the crowds wild.
When I first bought leather pants two years ago, however, there were two people who weren't exactly fans: my parents. After watching me bring home and try on what probably were the only pair of leather pants in South Florida, Mr. and Mrs. Botos certainly weren't getting in touch with their inner rock stars.
"They're too tight in your butt," my mom said.
"Leather pants?" said my dad for the 14th time.
I didn't care of course. I mean, that's probably what Mr. and Mrs. Jagger said the first time their son came home in pants that fit like spandex. And hey, if my little brother ever came home sporting leather pants, then they'd have a valid reason to be concerned.
My parents have since come to terms with my penchant for leather, provided I don't come home wearing a leather cat suit anytime soon. And it's a good thing, because many good nights out at the University have been made even better thanks to a few martyred cows and the people at Ralph Lauren.
Of course, with our "if it's not from J. Crew, entirely mainstream, or not already owned by two thirds of the student body, then I won't wear it" culture at the University, I have to report that I don't see a whole lot of leather around Charlottesville. And to me, that's a shame. Not just for frat guys everywhere who like to ogle, but for chicks who might have a whole lot more fun if they understood the mental transformation leather provides for its wearers.
There's a 150 percent chance that I'm never going to be a rock star, or a movie star or a dominatrix or any other sort of person who wears leather and parties hard on a regular basis. But there's just something about wearing leather pants or a leather skirt that says "hey, I may not be at the VIP table at Bungalow 8, but I can still dress like it." It makes you feel fun. Adventurous. Dare I even say it -- non-mainstream.
And in the rare instances when girls around here do wear leather, other people notice. In a good way.
Of course, there's also a practical side to wearing leather pants. There's still a good month or two of winter weather left, and nothing keeps you warmer on those frigid walks back from bars or frats than...you guessed it!
And though they might be an expensive initial investment, think of all the money you'll save on dry cleaning bills. Just grab a damp paper towel, wipe the frat sludge off the bottoms, and viola -- they're ready to keep on partying.
So if you don't already own a pair, now's the time to pick some up because the hard truth is that our leather-wearing days are numbered. Unlike our favorite Rolling Stones front-man, we're not all going to have 30-inch hips when we're 60. Heck, I don't even have 30-inch hips now.
But make no mistake here: I am in no way endorsing the purchase and use of leather's evil twin: "Pleather." If leather pants simply aren't in your budget, then don't sweat it. The main thing to remember is that "pleather" is not a clever alternative -- unless you really like looking, well, cheap. Or unless the thought of wearing cows makes you want to yak into your tofu.
And on a side note -- while I'm more than willing to urge University women to get out of the box, we've got to draw the line somewhere. While Mick may be a perfect candidate for wearing leather, I dare say college guys hanging around the corner should probably think of another way to channel their inner Mick. I'm fairly sure that goes without saying, though.
A couple weeks ago I was watching the Rolling Stones live from Madison Square Garden special on HBO. As Mick and the boys cavorted onstage in front of tens of thousands of adoring fans, I started to wonder -- what would it be like to actually be Mick Jagger? The Mick Jagger? Owner of the most infamous lips in the world? One of the only men who can actually wear skintight leather pants and still be a (straight) sex symbol?
Obviously I'll never know what it's really like to be Mick -- to be a Grammy winner, to have over 30 records to my name or to have seven children from four different partners. On second thought, maybe I don't really want to find out.
So though there's only one Mick, anyone can still invoke his "I'm-cooler-than-everyone-in-the-room" spirit by merely slipping on some leather pants for the evening. Because even if you can't really be a rock star, you can still dress like one. Just watch out for groupies.
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