Amid federal overreach, corporate greed, and widespread corruption, the past year has seen a lot of talk about anti-consumerism. People are boycotting, reducing their spending, and in Minnesota last month, we saw the first statewide general strike in the United States since 1934. 

To get a grip on all of these developments, and figure out how best to contribute, I’d like to take up the problem of pants. If you’ve been introduced to me over the past year here at Emerson, you may have been the victim of one of my ice breaker questions: How many pairs of pants do you own? 

The variety of answers I’ve gotten from people has been astounding: Apparently Emerson College students, all living out of the same plywood closet as I, manage to possess anywhere from four to 54 pairs of pants. Pants are a consumable good that everyone needs (if you wear exclusively shorts, leggings, or skirts this still applies!). Much like the way we, as consumers, can feel trapped supporting companies like Amazon, Target, or Spotify which we would otherwise like to abstain from, we are all trapped in the consumption loop that is pants.

From an anti-consumerist point of view, then, what ought we do to solve the pants problem?

One of the most tempting solutions involves buying new pants. These ones are made of organic cotton! These are made from recycled fibers! These are vintage and thrifted! These are fair-trade certified, made from Japanese denim, and cost $150 more than any pair of pants you’ve ever bought before. If you let the fashion industry’s marketing budget think for you, they will be more than happy to replace your entire wardrobe with new clothes you’ll feel better about. Until a new trend comes along, that is, and then you’re back to square one. 

If you can’t solve the problem of pants by buying new ones or throwing out old ones, what are you supposed to do? Here we see laid bare one of the tricks of capitalism: We are made to think that buying and selling or throwing out are the only two things we are capable of. This is a lie. In fact, the most powerful anti-consumerist tactic will mostly make you feel like you’re doing nothing at all.

Let’s say you’ve got 10 pairs of pants. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to continue wearing those pants for as long as possible. When you adopt this mindset, you’ll start to notice things about them you didn’t before. I have a pair of jeans, for instance, that make it impossible to access the pockets when I’m sitting. I’ve got another — a lighter wash pair — which, after several years of ownership, have faded to be almost white. Make careful note of these flaws in your pants: They will become important later.

For now, these are the 10 pairs of pants you’re stuck with. If they get holes, you’ll have to patch them. They are your pants after all — who else is going to do it? If the color fades, you’ll have to redye them. If you have any pants you really can’t stand and therefore don’t wear, feel free to donate them or give them to a friend. Just remember that now you’re down to nine pairs.

At this point in your pants problem journey, you’re likely to become interested in the science of pants longevity. Perhaps you will start paying closer attention to the care instructions on the label — washing them less frequently or air drying instead of using the dryers (which, at Emerson, I’ve found to be particularly destructive, even as dryers go). You might designate one or two pairs to be worn less often, and kept looking nicer, or to be worn exclusively during strenuous activity, taking on the most wear. These beat-‘em-up pants will quickly acquire delightful knee patches.

If you take up the mantle of this challenge, it is likely you won’t have to buy a single pair of pants for the remainder of your time at Emerson. This can feel like a bit of a defeat in some ways. The consumer inside you will say, “I didn’t DO anything.” By simply taking care of your things, repairing them as needed, and learning to be devoted to what were once disposable objects, you’ve taken your first step towards being a more responsible wearer of pants.

But someday, inevitably, the forces of entropy will win out, and you’ll wake up one day, possibly years after reading this article, and say to yourself, “No, I really do NEED a new pair of pants.” 

Fair enough. 

At this point, I would invite you to hold a mini funeral service for the pair you’re retiring. After so many years of really caring for something, not just possessing it, it is natural to get a bit emotional. Perhaps the greatest anti-consumerist victory lies in this sense of defeat. Shopping for something new now means a painful goodbye.

If you started with 10 pairs of pants, let’s say you used to replace three of them per year, on average, and that each pair cost you $45. Now, two years have gone by, you’re down to eight pairs, and you’re looking to buy one new pair. This means, conservatively, you’ve saved $270 on pants. Think back to your old pair, now relegated to laundry days, and all of the little things that annoyed you about them. This is where, I say, you should encourage yourself to splurge. Get a new pair of pants in a color that won’t fade, in a fabric and fit you know you’ll like wearing. If you can, get a pair with all of the certifications you’d like, and spend what is necessary to make sure they are high quality. In theory, you’ve got a $270 budget.

It could be reasonably argued that buying one expensive pair of pants is just as bad as six inexpensive pairs, because it contributes the same amount to a capitalist economy. I say this view is short-sighted for two reasons: For one, the waste produced by six pairs of pants — the resources used to make them, the water used to wash them, and the inevitable landfill space taken up — will always be higher than that of a single pair. Additionally, if after buying the more expensive pair you re-commit to the practices of maximizing pants longevity you employed previously, this pair will last even longer. Indeed, by following this strategy to the end, dear reader, you have unlocked the secret next level of anti-consumerist-pants-problem-solving: You’ve just bought your first pair of 10 year pants.

The anti-consumerist movement, which in my mind also includes political boycotts and general strikes, would benefit from the kind of hyper-practical thinking that I’ve tried to illustrate here. It doesn’t make sense to tell people to abstain permanently from buying pants, and within our current system, that can be how it feels to tell someone not to shop on Amazon. For purposes of political pressure, boycotts must be widely publicized, organized long in advance, and remain as focused as possible for maximum impact. For the purposes of buying less in general, ask yourself what it would take to disentangle yourself from these consumption loops, and make your things last longer. And always remember the pants problem.