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One does have to wonder how it all came about. Personally, I blame the feminists and their moronic attitude towards female sexuality and demonstrated it in those totally futile and brain numbing "Slutwalks". I am still trying to comprehend the sense behind that as I have not heard a single logical or sane argument to justify that nullifying waste of time and effort..

I suppose to a brain numbed feminist, it would some how make sense..

No ifs or butts, just wear pants 

SYDNEY, it's time to put on some pants.

This isn't going to be as easy as it sounds. Sydney sometimes struggles even to work out what pants are.
We need a pants definition.
By "we", I specifically mean the young woman who recently walked into my local RTA office in an essentially pants-less condition.
Now, this girl wasn't wearing a dress instead of pants. No, she was trying to kid herself - and every other set of bulging eyes in that RTA - into thinking her T-shirt was a dress.
A T-shirt that barely went past her hips, no less.
And, just to add to the unconvincing nature of her cheek-flashing ensemble, this girl had popped on a pair of sheer pantyhose.
Sheer, I tell you!
As in see-through.
Even the garter straps on the stockings were on show for all the world to see - along with her white undies.
For a moment there I thought she was lost.
I wanted to go over to her with directions to the nearest police station so she could report her stolen pants.
Because pantyhose are just not pants.
Even though they go over your legs and contain the letters P-A-N-T, they are not pants. They are underwear.
Underwear as outerwear is a disturbing trend among would-be pretty young things.
Fashion trends for young women have become tighter, shorter and - let's face it - sluttier with every season.
Sydney has become the smutty city thanks to these revealing wardrobes. When Mardi Gras partygoers decked out in buttless chaps make you look like a skank by comparison, then you know we have a problem.
At what point does skimpy dressing become indecent exposure? Because I'm more than happy to make a citizen's arrest on anyone who assaults my eyeballs. Girls, at the risk of sounding like your mother, please cover yourselves.
I'm not for a second suggesting we bring back girdles and neck-to-knee swimming costumes. That's just nasty.
All I'm asking for is a little bit of common sense. Tights are not pants.
Yet every second young woman (and even the odd not-so-young woman) is trekking around town in tights with nothing else covering their arse. Well, quite frankly, that makes you an ass.
Even on a rake-thin model, tights do not count as pants.
If the garment coating your backside is 99 per cent lycra and in no need of zippers or buttons to do them up then, I can tell you now, they are not pants. Tights are an undergarment. As in they belong under another garment, such as a dress that goes past your cellulite-ridden upper thigh region.
When you try to present them in public as stand-alone pants you look ridiculous.
Those stares following you around are not stares of "doesn't she look great?!" They are stares of "what the hell is she wearing?"
And just doing it because everyone else is wearing the same disgustingly stretched and transparent tights is no excuse. Rolling with the majority is not always right. Once upon a time the majority thought the world was flat.
Look at us now.
The only time tights are acceptable in public is during exercise. Running is exercise. Walking the dog is exercise. Wandering around Westfield is not exercise.
It's not just the tights-as-pants craze that has taken off and turned my stomach in the process. It's the super-short skirts on not-so-super figures; the massive muffin tops hanging over skin-tight jeans; and the cut-off denim shorts (so short the pockets hang longer than the hemline) that look like they the will cut a girl in half when she sits down.
My personal rule is if you can't sit down without your bare backside touching the seat, then the skirt is too short.
Where is your mother in all this? Has she seen what you're wearing?
I will admit that my mother has hurled some occasionally hurtful comments my way regarding my outfits. She's developed a catalogue of nicknames for my dresses.
There's the clown dress (a multi- coloured silk smock), the referee dress (with large black and white stripes that resemble a whistle- blower in a soccer match), and the Commonwealth Bank dress (just because it contains yellow, navy blue and black all mixed together). But for every backhanded compliment my mum pays me, I'm sure glad she's honest about my wardrobe.
And I've never, ever worn tights as pants.
So please, ladies, put em on.