I wear black pants.  Always.  Well, I may have a pair somewhere of very dark grey and one of dark brown. I bought a pair of khaki ones last summer, but they didn’t really work out.  Black pants are my bold fashion statement from the waist down.  I have about eight pairs of cheap cotton knit pants.  Depending on their level of worn-out-ness, I wear them to church, to work out in, to garden, to walk the dogs.  The really stretched-out ones, I sleep in.  I have a few pairs made of different materials, slightly nicer, like linen or wool.  I think there is probably a pair left from a previous life made of silk.  I don’t wear denim.  I think it is ugly and uncomfortable. My kayaking pants are nylon and come just below the knee.  I think this length is presently called “Capri,” for some reason that has nothing to do with the nice island near Naples. I have some workout pants that length too.  My good linen pants are called “cropped.”  Black, all.

My jackets, not so much: