So the other day I got totally obsessed with figuring out why Rick Owens’ rave pants cost a fortune and look like trash bags, right? I mean, regular jeans cost fifty bucks but these things? Astronomical. Figured I’d try to hack my own version instead.
Step One: The WTF Material Hunt
Dragged my lazy ass downtown to every fabric store. Picked up this shiny nylon crap thinking it might work. Sales lady kept side-eyeing me while I rubbed fabric between my fingers like a weirdo. Bought 10 yards ’cause what even is fabric math?
Second Disaster: Copying Silhouettes
Taped pictures of those weird crotch-draping pants all over my wall. Took scissors to the nylon and went slash-happy. Pro tip: Cutting fabric while watching Netflix ends badly. Wound up with one leg looking like elephant trunk and the other like deflated balloon. Stitching was pure chaos – sewing machine sounded like dying cat.
The Dye Nightmare
Saw some pitch-black Rave pics online and figured “hey, black dye exists”. Dunked my Frankenstein pants into boiling dye vat. Smelled like Satan’s laundry room. When I pulled ’em out? Not even close to black. More like rotten eggplant purple. Panic set in. Dyed three more times. Now they feel like cardboard armor.
Wearing Them Out = Instant Regret
Finally wore my monstrosity to grocery run. Sweat pooled inside those stupid nylon tubes within minutes. Fabric stuck to legs like wet plastic wrap. Caught my reflection in frozen food section – looked like swamp monster dragging two trash bags. Little kid pointed and screamed. Checkout lady asked if I needed medical help.
Why Real Rick Owens Stuff Actually Works:
- That droop isn’t random – tried dozens of ways to hang fabric between legs. Turns out angles and weights matter more than NASA calculations.
- Rubberized coatings are witchcraft – my nylon just collected sweat. Their fabric somehow breathes while looking vacuum-sealed.
- Intentionally ugly takes skill – making people gag while dropping $1200? That’s performance art, man.
Ended up dumping my “masterpiece” in donation bin. Some poor soul will find those radioactive purple disaster pants someday. Hope they have better luck than me.
