The Pleather Pants

I was thinking, YES. This is a happening. I got my boots, my LA-fake-Autumn sweater… my pleather H&M pants that fit like a glove. Like a glove that’s one size too small, on the hand of a man with sausage fingers. BUT. Still good.

In my mind I almost looked like:

shenae-grimes-leather-pantsOr even a little like:charlize-theron-leather-pants

And sorta:


I pulled on the pants, buttoned the fly, and bent my knees to test for bendiness.

They made a little rubbery sound. — Ha.

EH, no big. I’m going to work – the restaurants are super loud, I’m sure they’ll loosen up. PLEATHER PANTS! Love em!

I drove down Sunset Blvd to pick up my first order. As I hit each bump in the road, I could hear the tiny sound of my thighs rubbing together. Like I’d packed one of those Styrofoam coolers under my ass.

I cranked the radio. Pants sound gone! “And the players gonna play play play play play, and the shmeymey gonna smey smey smey smey smey something, I’M JUST GONNA SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE — SHAKE IT OFF! SHAKE IT OFF!”

I pleathered my way around Beverly Hills, Bel Air, and Brentwood, with the gentle elegance of a rubber feather flopping in the breeze.

It was like I had galoshes on, as I speed-walked up to each door before the customer (or any dogs) could notice me first. Then, I was simply standing (still!), and we made our exchange without anyone’s clothing making any sounds.

As the night wore on, the sound got worse. Like a hamster ferociously chewing on balloons.

OH! This is what #ThighGap is for. THESE DAMN PANTS. Your pleather legs *cannot* touch. You must either starve yourself to the bones, OR walk like a cowboy who just got off a horse. I was doing the second thing because I occasionally enjoy the majority of a pizza.

My last order of the night. I drove up to the address: The W Hotel, Hollywood. PERFECT! You can hear the music from 2 blocks away! People were lined up down the street, and there was the delicious sound of LOTS OF NOISE.

I arrived at the front desk.

“Oh. You want the Residences at the W… Next door.” She half-assed pointed.

I glanced over. The Residences were infinitely more exclusive and – oh God….Quiet. I walked inside (rubber hamsters rubber hamsters!), speaking as I entered the lobby that was covered in furs and velvets and OTHER SOUND-PROOFING FABRICS, and zero people. Except the desk guy, who seemed like he was doing nothing, but enjoying a moment of restful silence.

“HI I HAVE A DELIVERY” I projected, like I just stepped out of a death metal concert.

“Excellent! I’ll have someone escort you up.” He whispered into a walkie-talkie and someone appeared by an elevator, across the room, waving to me.

I had so much ground to cover.


I shouted my way into the elevator, making way too much conversation with this dude.

“So, how’s it going tonite? Who are you? What is like, your real dream, living in LA! OH you’re from LA! HOW COOL! Tell me about yourself and your family don’t leave anything out! Hahahahahahahahahaha!”

The elevator door opened on the penthouse floor. My heart sunk, as I clocked the 10-mile-long carpeted hallway. My soft-spoken companion cordially let me step out first. I broke out into a full-on mustache sweat.

(Rubber hamsters, rubber hamsters!)

I commented on the rugs. The art. The guy’s tattoo. The mirrors everywhere. I crinkled the bag of the food. ANYTHING! OMG WHY IS THIS HALLWAY SO LONG!

I just wanted to knock him out and sprint to the customer’s door.

We arrived, and rang the doorbell. The customer gave me a wad of cash and tipped the guy standing with me. Then just – stood in the doorway.


“Thanks!” I repeated.

“Have a great nite.”

“Thanks! You too!” Shut the door now, I’m doing something.

“See you next time!”

“YES! Of course!” SHUT. IT.

My escort took the lead and we were out of there. Me, immediately launching into diarrhea of the mouth, and him, probably wondering what kind of ecstasy I was on. (Rubber hamsters, rubber hamsters!) I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT EVERYTHING ISN’T THIS GREAT TO WALK DOWN THIS NICE LONG HALL TOGETHER OMG SO NICE OF YOU TO TAKE ME TO THE ELEVATOR WHICH I LOVE BY THE WAY! WHAT DID YOU SAY YOUR MOM’S NAME WAS AGAIN?

Finally back in the lobby, I cowboy hamster’d my way to the door, then found myself out on Hollywood Blvd, with the rest of noisy humanity.


Oh my way to the car, I walked past the kindest, sweetest valet attendant in the world. He saw me, and yelled “OH! JEW LOOK LIKE OLIBIA NEWTON YON!”olivia-newton-john-leather-pants

WE’RE LIKE FREAKIN’ TWINS, right??? It made me laugh so hard, I could barely hear the hamsters.

I drove home, contemplating sewing (scissors and gluing?) my pants into coasters.

Imagine getting into someone’s car with leather interior, in these things. How do you even go on with your life?! “Heyyyyyy thanks for picking me up!” (Opens door. RUBBER HAMSTER PARTY.)



Shenae, Charlize, Bon Jovi, Olibia

10 thoughts on “The Pleather Pants

  1. Oh my God Lauren… I am in tears laughing at my desk!!! I received an e-mail from HM that said pleather leggings were part of their “must haves for work” collection… Now I understand!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HA HA!

    • Ahahaha! Oh NO! Um…. I’d give them 5 stars for “looks” and zero stars for “wearability”. If you get them (bc YES, we should do whatever H&M says, this Fall!), please let me know if you figure out the secret to success in pleather pants! XO

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