Look at My Red Trousers!

Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat, and everyone’s favourite man in red trousers is back on your radar. But how did Santa start such an outrageous trend?

If Saint Nick knew the sheer volume of flamboyant legwear that was floating around Cambridge, I think he’d be flattered. But I am less amused. In theory, striding confidently down King’s Parade in a vibrant shade of maroon is no problem; but in practise it spells TWAT. I have friends who wear red trousers, I even have some shameful wheel-them-out-once-a-year relatives who wear red trousers, but the festive season reminds me that there’s only one man in red who can make my wishes come true.

So I have a theory; a man’s first purchase of rouge pantaloons is a turning point in his manhood. A sort of mid-life crisis in legwear. You invest in red trousers for one of two reasons; A) you ARE a twat, or have recently become one, and want to proudly stride around stating as much. Or B) you’re desperate to be one of the red trouser gang, just gagging for the gaze of open-mouthed tourists and blushing lady Cantabs.

Is this man cool, or a twat?

If, while you’re reading, your gaze drifts downwards to your own zany red pins – don’t fear – there is hope for you yet. Your wardrobe crimes are not beyond remedy. The solution? The apologetic Santa clause.

Yes, that’s right, don’t try to trump the master at his own game – embrace him and his fashion sense. Don a silly hat and a big black belt, stuff a pillow up yer jumper and pay homage to father Christmas. No longer a threat, your fellow male will see you as a friendly adversary, ho-ho-ho-ing your way to pally banter.

And what of the ladies, I hear you say? Well, Freud would have a field day; embedded in our female consciousnesses is the irrepressable desire for the ultimate cerise-clad sugar daddy. So stride with festive pride, and they’ll be sitting on your knee in no time.