¡Mira mis putos pantalones rojos!

Englánd vs Espain.

A Matisse odalisque.

A Matisse odalisque.

Monsieur Henri de Pantalon-Rouge of Look at my fucking red trousers! writes:

From South Ken to Shoreditch, from Jermyn Street to Mare Street – these days anyone that’s anyone is wearing red trousers.

If you want your leg-coverings to let the world know that you’ve got a few quid and don’t care who knows it, or that you have some big ideas about what’s on at the ICA right now – or simply that you are completely insane (but in a mainly non-stabby way) – then you’d better get your wife or girlfriend to take those jeans and chinos down to the charity shop post-haste!

Because there’s only one type of trousers you’ll be wanting to wear, and that’s RED TROUSERS. In fact – if you can’t wear red trousers you’d be better off wearing NO TROUSERS AT ALL. That’s what I say.

Henry Conway thinks it’s fundamentally a (posh) pimps and whores thing (though David Cameron doesn’t have any – “Call me Dave”?), but MHPR’s current breakdown is:

Then again, maybe only high net worth individuals can afford to be hipsters or loonies in London.

But what about Spain? I think something similar is going on. A Brit told me the other day that she thought of red trousers as something typically and generally Spanish, but Rosa Montero writes in El país:

como uno de los consejeros de mi banco lleve esos espantosos pantalones rojos de los pijos, con la barriguilla pendulona rebosando por encima del cinturón, es que saco todos mis fondos de la cuenta, vamos.

Frikipedia says roughly the same with rather less pomp.

The military association – which I have always thought about concealing the blood from the alcohol on the kidneys rather than that of slaughtered enemies – is ubiquitous, e.g. in the “pantalones rojos y brillantes bayonetas” in the fields and streets of Jerez in Blasco Ibáñez’s La bodega.

The unused red trousers in Últimas tardes con Teresa are a sign that Marsé is not going to have Manolo aka Pijoaparte make a happy woman of Hortensia aka la Jeringa:

Manolo la detuvo cogiéndola por el brazo. “Espera -dijo riendo-. Espera un momento, fierecilla”. La idea de que Teresa le estaba esperando le llenaba de alegría. Hizo un rápido cálculo mental: hasta bien entrada la noche no era conveniente plantarse en la villa, de modo que tenía el tiempo suficiente de dar unas vueltas en moto con la muchacha y liquidar así de una vez aquella pequeña deuda sin importancia, pensándolo bien, incluso se alegraba de liquidarla precisamente hoy: en vísperas de grandes y felices acontecimientos, en el umbral de la cita que prometía integrarle acaso definitivamente al mundo de los adultos, satisfacer un capricho tan infantil e inocente como el de la Jeringa tenía su gracia: “Está bien, condesa -dijo sonriendo-. Te llevo. Pero prepárate, vas a saber lo que es correr”. La chica, ahogando una exclamación de júbilo, quiso ponerse los pantalones rojos, pero él dijo que no podía esperar y que la bata blanca la hacía más mujer y más guapa.

But what about Spanish users? Has anyone asked them? Do you wear red trousers and wish to share your experiences?

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Last updated 25/09/2015

Juan Marsé (3): Juan Marsé Carbó is a Spanish novelist, journalist and screenwriter.

Kaleboel (4307):

Rosa Montero (1): Rosa Montero Gayo is an award-winning journalist for the Spanish newspaper El País and an author of contemporary fiction.

Vicente Blasco Ibáñez (12): Vicente Blasco Ibáñez was a journalist, politician and best-selling Spanish novelist in various genres whose most widespread and lasting fame in the English-speaking world is from Hollywood films adapted from his works.


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