I Spent Three Weeks Getting Men’s Opinions on Wide-Leg Pants and Now I Need Therapy

You know how sometimes you’re just minding your own business and then your brain decides to ruin your entire month? Yeah, that’s basically what happened to me at Murphy’s Pub three weeks ago. I was there with my friend Jake, trying to forget about a particularly brutal day of writing marketing copy about cloud-based solutions (kill me), when this woman walked in wearing the most spectacular pair of wide-leg jeans I’d ever seen.

I mean, these things were WIDE. Like, each leg could’ve housed a small family. The denim was flowing behind her like she was some sort of fashion superhero with a cape made of pants. It was honestly magnificent.

Jake took one look and made this face—you know the one men make when they’re trying really hard not to say something that’ll get them canceled on Twitter. “Those are…” he paused, clearly searching for diplomatic phrasing, “…a choice.”

And then he said it. The thing that basically destroyed three weeks of my life: “Do women actually enjoy wearing those? They look like she’s hiding something.”

I nearly choked on my Old Fashioned. Not because the question was shocking, but because it was so predictably male. Here’s this woman, clearly feeling herself in these amazing pants, and Jake’s first thought is whether she’s meeting some mysterious standard of… what exactly? Leg visibility? Pants efficiency?

“I love them,” I said, which wasn’t entirely true since I’d never actually owned a pair. My 5’4″ frame and my wallet’s relationship with rent meant most of my pants came from Target’s clearance rack, not wherever one acquires fabric this luxurious. “They’re comfortable and they look incredible.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “No offense, Claire, but they remind me of those JNCO jeans from middle school. Except… longer?”

That’s when my brain broke. Because I’m apparently the kind of person who will turn a random Tuesday night conversation into a full-blown research project just to prove a point. Also because I’d had two drinks and my impulse control was basically nonexistent.

So I did what any reasonable fashion writer would do. I decided to ask 100 men what they thought about wide-leg pants.

I know. I KNOW. It’s stupid. But once the idea was in my head, it wouldn’t leave. Plus, I figured it’d make for better content than another “How to Style Your Basic White Tee” post, which was what I had scheduled for the following week.

My methodology was… let’s call it informal. I basically became that person who bothers strangers in public, except instead of trying to convert them to my religion, I was showing them pictures of pants and recording their reactions. I hit up coffee shops in Lincoln Park, cornered my cousin’s wedding guests during cocktail hour, and yes, subjected two different Hinge dates to this ridiculous survey. (Neither called back, which honestly might be for the best.)

I asked my dad, my little brother, the guy who delivers my groceries, some random dude waiting for the L, and at least twenty guys who were just trying to eat their lunch in peace at Millennium Park. I showed them photos ranging from subtle wide-leg cuts to full-on palazzo pant territory and wrote down everything they said.

What I learned was both hilarious and deeply concerning for the future of humanity.

First, the numbers, because I’m apparently the type of person who creates spreadsheets for her own entertainment now. Out of 100 guys:

74% immediately wrinkled their faces like I’d shown them a picture of expired milk
17% claimed to be “neutral” but then proceeded to explain exactly why the pants were wrong
7% actually liked them (though two were gay men with impeccable style and one was an art student, so make of that what you will)
2% refused to answer, which honestly showed the most wisdom

The actual comments though… oh boy. I wrote everything down, and reading through my notes later was like anthropological research into the male psyche. Here’s a greatest hits compilation:

“They look like she’s wearing a denim tablecloth.”

“Are those pants or is she just really wide?”

“My sister had pants like that in ’98. They weren’t cute then either.”

“I don’t understand the physics. Where do her actual legs go?”

“It’s like someone took regular pants and inflated them. Why would you want to look inflated?”

“They remind me of those wacky inflatable tube guys outside car dealerships.”

“Do you think she can run in those? What if there’s an emergency?”

“My girlfriend has a pair. Every time she wears them, I know I’m sleeping on the couch that night for some reason I haven’t figured out yet.”

But my absolute favorite response came from this older businessman at Starbucks who studied the photo for like thirty seconds with the serious expression of someone analyzing a Rothko. Finally, he looked up and said, “In my generation, we appreciated seeing the silhouette of a woman’s figure. This is more… sculptural.”

When I asked if that was good or bad, he shrugged and said, “I don’t know enough about sculpture to judge,” and went back to his Wall Street Journal.

Here’s the thing that really got me though. When I started asking these same guys about other “controversial” women’s fashion choices—tiny sunglasses, platform Crocs, oversized blazers, the return of low-rise jeans—they had equally strong opinions about all of it. There was definitely a pattern: if it didn’t show off or flatter the female body in some traditionally sexy way, men generally hated it.

Revolutionary stuff, right? Call Harvard, I’ve cracked the code.

But then I asked the follow-up question that actually made this whole ridiculous experiment worth it: “Do you think women dress for your approval?”

This is where it got interesting. About 65% immediately backpedaled and admitted that no, women probably don’t and shouldn’t care what random men think about their pants. Another 20% looked genuinely confused, like the idea that women might dress for themselves had never occurred to them. And the remaining 15% doubled down with responses like “Well, someone should tell them” and “I’m just being honest about what looks good.”

Honest about… pants. As if women are wandering around desperately needing male guidance on basic clothing choices.

My brother summed it up perfectly when I cornered him at our parents’ house last weekend: “Do I like those pants? Not really. Do I think my opinion should influence what women wear? Absolutely not. It’s like asking a goldfish what it thinks about your Netflix subscription.”

Look, I get having aesthetic preferences. I have strong feelings about men in cargo shorts (just… why?) and those tiny round sunglasses that make everyone look like they’re about to start a cryptocurrency cult. But there’s something particularly telling about how passionately men rejected a style that’s primarily about women’s comfort and self-expression rather than being visually appealing to them.

Because here’s the truth about wide-leg pants: they’re amazing to wear. They flow around your legs like you’re constantly walking through a gentle breeze. You can sit down without doing elaborate contortions or worrying about splitting a seam. They don’t crawl up into uncomfortable places during the day. They have real pockets—like, actual functional pockets you can fit your phone in. They don’t broadcast every fluctuation in your body throughout the month. And when you get them right, they look effortlessly chic in that way that seems casual but is actually pretty sophisticated.

But beyond the practical stuff, there’s something deeper happening here. Fashion isn’t just about looking conventionally attractive to the widest possible audience. It’s about play and creativity and sometimes just wearing something because it makes you feel like a badass, even if other people don’t understand it.

Think about it—some of the most interesting fashion moments in history were met with total confusion or outright hostility at the time. When women first started wearing pants at all, people lost their minds. Bobbed hair in the 1920s was scandalous. Mini skirts caused actual moral panic. And now, apparently, extra fabric around women’s legs is somehow threatening to men’s sense of… I don’t even know what.

After collecting all these ridiculous responses, I did what any self-respecting fashion writer would do: I went to Zara and bought the most dramatically wide palazzo pants I could find. They’re black linen with a high waist, and when I walk, I look like I’m floating on my own personal cloud of fabric. They’re completely impractical for Chicago winters and navigating crowded subway cars, and I’m obsessed with them.

I wore them to meet Jake for coffee last week. He looked up from his laptop and said, “Oh, those actually look really cool.”

“I know,” I said. “But I didn’t ask for your opinion this time.”

Now every time I wear my wide-leg pants, I think about all those bewildered male faces. I think about how weird it is that some extra denim can provoke such strong reactions from people who will never have to wear the pants themselves. I think about how fashion functions as both self-expression and a form of quiet rebellion against expectations we didn’t even realize we were carrying around.

But mostly, I just enjoy the swoosh of fabric around my ankles and the little breeze I create when I walk fast. Because here’s the thing about “divisive” fashion trends—the joy of wearing them isn’t diminished even slightly by other people’s confusion. If anything, it might make them more fun.

So if you’ve been eyeing wide-leg pants but hesitating because you’re worried they’re not “flattering” (which usually just means “makes you look thinner” or “appealing to men”), I’m here to tell you: buy the damn pants. Wear them to work, to brunch, to meet your mom’s book club, to Target. Take up space with your fabric. Create dramatic wind effects. Enjoy the confused looks.

And if anyone has the audacity to ask if you wore those pants for attention, you can borrow my new standard response: “Yes, I did—just not yours.”

P.S. Yes, I actually surveyed 100 men about pants. No, my editor didn’t assign this. Yes, I probably need better hobbies. And no, I still don’t care what men think about my fashion choices—but their reactions made for way better content than another “10 Ways to Style Wide-Leg Pants” listicle. Sometimes the best stories come from the stupidest ideas.