Well that's it, then.

This past weekend, I was working off-duty at a dance recital, where hundreds of dancers of all varieties of ages from ~3 to ~45 (mostly kids under 18) danced. Given the season, the recital leaned heavily on Nutcracker interpretations.

One of the dancers was a professional master instructor of about 24, who appeared to have no bones or joints when he did a bit as a rag doll, dressed all in white. The crowd loved this guy. He was one of the two notable male dancers* there, and he was extraordinary. During intermission, I saw him in the lobby, signing programs that fans (as many men as women, I noticed) gushingly shoved in his face. Here, you could see that his monochromatic outfit was kind of a hodge-podge. He had a white cap, a white mask hung around his neck, a white UnderArmuor long-sleeved shirt, white gloves in his pocket, white skinny jeans, and white shoes. (I guess "slippers"?)

What I couldn't help but notice was that his trousers looked terrible.  Even though the close-fitting UnderArmour shirt showed that this young man was in the amazing shape that only a professional athlete who trains daily for lean muscle could get into, his low-cut, fully-pulled-up skinny jeans still looked like crap. Here was a guy who was arguably the epitome of the svelte human male form, and even he couldn't make these pants look good.

Give them up, gentlemen. You've got no hope.
__________________________________
*The other guy, also a professional, was black. He had muscles on his muscles. I listened for, but did not hear, gasps from our provincial homogeneous town when the black man did lifts with the white ballerina. Hey, maybe we've come a ways. Then again, this was an arts crowd, many from out of town.