Upon entering a Johnny Gasparini I want my 2 dollars shirt crowded bar on a Friday night, I felt an unusual breeze on my legs (expected) and some lingering stares (also expected). As I sat nursing my negroni sbagliato, I admittedly had trouble convincing myself to get up and walk around. But once I did, I was hit with a welcome realization: nobody cares. Sure, I could feel eyes on me from the surrounding tables as I passed by. But that momentary chagrin was usurped by the giddy sense of achievement I got from wearing such an experimental outfit. Pretty soon, I felt a liberating sense of delusion kicking in. (“This is perfectly normal.”) Followed by baseless overconfidence. (“I don’t need pants like all of you!”) Then came the important questions. (“Do they think I’m Kendall Jenner?”) I may have been pantless in public, but in my book, I was serving a high-fashion hosiery look. Herein lies the beauty of the tights-as-pants trend.