The premise is always the same: sign up for a team, get on a specific train car, take your pants off at your assigned station, get off the train, get back on the next one in the same car. The only behavioral norm assigned to participants is to act nonchalant, ya know, as if you’re actually WEARING pants. Unsuspecting T riders who do not realize this is happening will be in SHOCK and AWE! They will give these no pants wearers STRANGE LOOKS! They will LAUGH! They will POINT and take PICTURES! They will WHISPER to their friends!! But for me, having done this twice already, I knew exactly what to expect. And I actually found myself thinking, “Where’s the novelty in this?”

There’s a distinct difference between this event and the countless no pants offenses I have captured on film. With the former, these people may be a tad on the crazy side, but they are well-aware that they should normally be wearing pants. This is one day when they will take a walk on the wild side – either on their free will or on a dare – and do something crazy in public. However, the members of the latter group have no idea that they are committing a fashion crime. They actually think their lack of pants is sexy and cool and “in”. They somehow look in the mirror and think that they CAN’T see their ass through those tights they wear. So who is more delusional? The people who ride the T for 1 hour in their underwear on a cold day in January or the people whose clothing choices basically resemble underwear EVERY DAY?!

So nice try no pants T riders. Good job at getting up the courage to join all your friends and “shake it up” on a Sunday afternoon. These people are actually rewarded for taking their pants off, seeing as that there’s an after party at a bar (still no pants there…frightening). But unfortunately, these crazies will never hold a candle to the balls that the girls wearing tights, leggings, short-ass skirts, long sweaters, etc. etc. possess. Somehow, the aforementioned girls have ZERO SHAME. It’s a concept I might never understand. But for the first time, I can actually say I was a little bored by all these people without their pants.

Nevertheless, of course I got pictures! Duh.

My favorite part of this picture is that guy's face.

That chick in the panties and black tights was actually very pregnant. So congrats, new baby, your mommy is a crazy person.

Question: does a guy have more or less game when the girl's pants are already off?

When the clothed sit next to the unclothed...

Not sure why, but cowboy boots were a popular accessory for riding the T without pants.

Her legs are not diseased nor covered in tattoos. Those tights are just meant to ALWAYS be underneath something.

Her hair was about the same color combination as those socks.

When the hell did this event become a father/son bonding moment?!?!

Oh not to worry...Mom came out too. Get the whole family involved.

There goes the flock...

The mistake to which I am referring is nude-colored leggings. By mistake, I more accurately mean EGREGIOUS ERROR IN JUDGMENT. But is this the fault of the pants makers or the pants buyers? Who has become the parasite in this once symbiotic relationship? I’m not sure I have an answer at the moment, so to keep with the “balance” theme I have going here, I shall present both sides of the argument.

The designers of nude leggings are the devil!

Ultimately it is the designers that create a fashion trend, so it seems natural to blame them for creating leggings that give the illusion that you have LITERALLY forgotten your pants. There are so few occasions I can think of that require the illusion of nakedness. Anything that does come to mind seems to revolve around the arts in some form (plays, dance, etc.). And even that is a stretch. In addition, I feel that one major benefit of pants is that they tend to hide all those fun little imperfections we all have and love: cellulite, little pockets of extra fat, spider veins, all that good stuff. But if the designers have created a piece that A. glues itself to your legs since spandex is very good at that and B. contours to all the bumps and lumps you have, they have given you no fighting chance at looking good. If it was possible to look anti-sexy, they have helped you achieve that. Designers wrote your sex appeal its death sentence when they created nude-colored leggings.

But wait! It’s the consumers’ fault!

Can we lay all the burden upon the creators of this atrocity? Perhaps those who spend actual money on a product that gives the opposite effect of clothing should take some of the fall. Listen, I know each and every one of you has had at least one encounter with a mirror in your lifetime. If you’re special, maybe even a full-length mirror. So if you plan on using the argument that you didn’t realize you looked naked walking out of the house, I’m not buying it for a second. Furthermore, I KNOW that every dressing room in every retail store contains at least one full length mirror, so any excuse that you didn’t know what you were buying is irrelevant. No one blindfolded you, put a gun to your head, and forced you to acquire a pair of naked pants without your knowledge. So in a culture where we tend to preach that the “customer is always right”, we need to consider that in many instances, specifically of the nude legging variety, the customer may very well just be dumb.

What’s the answer, oh pants guru?!

Sadly, I don’t have one. Both arguments are valid, but if I have to make a conclusion, my instinct is to condemn the consumer. Listen, you have to have some semblance of what your body looks like at this point in your life. You have to be able to discern what looks good on you and what doesn’t. It’s a very basic human tool. Therefore, when I see you prancing around in nude-colored non-pants, I’m going to assume either dementia or blindness has most unfortunately befallen you. Unfortunately for you, your current medical condition does nothing to save us, the unsuspecting public, from seeing your very naked-looking ass. So I beg you to be a smart consumer. Save us all.

Photo courtesy of Karen and Meredith, via Cosmo. Upon first glance, you are probably in shock that this woman has actually completely forgotten her pants. Upon further investigation, you'll realize she is African American...yet her legs, thanks to nude-colored leggings, are now Caucasian.

Offense: Must I review the rules of tights AGAIN?! They are not now, nor will they ever be, pants. This young woman fits the “stereotypical college girl” profile perfectly. North Face fleece, Vera Bradley clutch, leggings/tights, Uggs. It’s just too predictable. But on this clear, crisp, fall day, your panties, my dear, are on display.

Verdict: Listen, ladies, I realize you’re supposedly living on a student’s budget (which, let’s face it, I don’t believe for a second. You go to BU, and Mommy and Daddy drove their Range Rover up from the Cape to move you into your dorm.). But being a “poor” student doesn’t mean you have to skimp on pants. You were somehow accepted into a prestigious university, meaning you possess some level of intelligence. So take those smarts and instead of hitting the books to calculate EBIT and ROA, study up on pants. Instead of getting a fancy new piece of technology, get a full-length mirror. Then look in that mirror. Look at your ass specifically. If you cannot see a full view of your ass, recruit your roommate. That’s what college roommates are for. These four years will be some of the best of your life. Experience all BU has to offer…in pants.

Photo courtesy of Emma, a pants-wearing BU student who can effectively distinguish between pants and this atrocity. Grade for this no-pants spy work = A+. Nice underwear pattern though...did you get that at Vicki's?

This flow chart, entitled, “Am I Wearing Pants?”, is incredibly thorough and takes into consideration every possible scenario that girls of all ages may encounter. It’s a pocket-size pants monitor. The IQ of this single instrument allows anyone to take the brains out of the pants operation. It’s simply fool-proof. No individual effort required. X marks the spot pants treasure map. Need I make more puns? Humor me one more…and allow me to make it catchy…

If your lack of pants has you feeling low,

And you’re just so lost on where to go,

To the leggings you just must say “Hell no!”

And instead so simple just go with the flow!

…chart!

Offense: Once a year, a whole gaggle o’ high school-aged, acne-ridden, papier mache-wielding crazies invades the Back Bay for some good ol’ fashion LARPing. These teenagers have spent weeks crafting their costumes to resemble their anime heroes, including Pikachu and Sailor Moon (sorry, those two complete the list of anime characters I can name), and flood into Boston for an epic meeting of the minds. My co-worker and I took a stroll through the madness, and got the distinct feeling walking through the courtyard that we were dropped in the middle of a zoo. We observed as they fought with giant cardboard scythes–wild animals in their natural habitat. Unfortunately for them, the general public perusing the Pru shops did not anticipate needing to buy aquarium tickets in addition to their dose of Pinkberry. They didn’t quite expect uber-nerds in leotards and capes.

Verdict: There is no reasonable occasion to dig out the leotard from your 7th grade jazz recital to take a romp around a crowded shopping mall. Because the anime characters you’re emulating? They’re CARTOONS. They can’t even keep their little animated mouths moving with the pace of the translated English phrases. They just don’t have the same anatomical make-up as real people. You don’t normally see cartoon characters suffering from the unfortunate cottage cheese ass. Cartoons don’t need to maintain their bikini waxes. Imitation may be the highest form of flattery, but animation, in this no pants crime scene, is bordering on debauchery.

Offense: As warm weather is teasing us here in New England and the tantalizingly glorious prospect of day drinking on a roof deck makes my heart go a-flutter, I believe it is time to address the general public about a topic that is so simple, yet so misunderstood and even more mis-implemented: shorts.

Shorts are, in essence, exactly what their name implies: a shorter version of pants. And I like pants, so you would hasten to assume I like shorts as well. Yes and no. Yes: they are a symbol of summer. Of warm weather and jogging along the beach. Of picnics in the park and eating ice cream on a hot, muggy night. But NO: recently, the amount of denim rationed to the making of shorts has seemingly been on the drastic decline because the shorts you see in the stores now can really only fit a small monkey and that’s about it. Half the time I don’t know whether I’m looking at a pair of shorts or some Huggies because that sure as hell looks like a diaper to me. So when it comes to this young woman, waiting patiently at the intersection to cross the street, I hesitate (severely) to put my stamp of approval on those shorts.

Verdict: Someone please call 911 because her shorts are literally choking her ass. We know  you have junk in the trunk. You are apparently very proud of it. But I mean seriously, unless you put up some Poster Board sign on a tree that offers me and your fellow neighbors some sweet deals…no one is coming to that garage sale.

Photo courtesy of Alicia, my metropolitan Maryland area no-pants spy. Her subject line when she sent this picture via email? "They walk in New Orleans too".

Offense: Let’s break down this outfit for a moment. There are no pants to be found. No pants have been entered into this equation. She put 2 and 2 together and it did not equal pants. But what is far more disturbing to me about this “outfit” (or as I like to call it, the remnants of the Christmas wrapping stock), is that there is also no top in sight. All I see is what can only be described as a boob sling. A boob sling, ladies and gentlemen, is much like a baby sling. It wraps around your front and tightly swaddles your little bundle of joy. The bundles of joy in this case are…the ta tas.

Verdict: For heaven’s sake, if your boobs are not broken, fractured or sprained in some way, do not put them in a sling. Because every time one of those suckers comes loose–which it inevitably will (and did, according to my eyewitnesses)–you have to scoop it up like a lump of silicone-flavored ice cream. There’s a much better cone to put that ice cream in…it’s called a bra. Top it with a shirt. Mmm, just like sprinkles.

Ribbons are good for several things: wrapping presents, rhythmic gymnastics, and adorning the fake ponytails belonging to adolescent cheerleaders. But the last thing I want to do is untie some ribbon and have your fun bags fall into my lap.

Offense: Here I’ve always thought that spanx were to be worn UNDERNEATH one’s clothing, but I’ve clearly been mistaken all these years. My bad. I’m clearly not up to speed with the latest fashion trends. When you think about it, that really does make things simple doesn’t it? First of all, you don’t need underwear. You just don’t need it. You also don’t need to purchase actual clothes. Just go to your local KMart, pick up a package of spanx for $5.99, and voila! You’re ready for a night out on the town. And do we think that this underwear/clothing fusion will insulate the legs and protect the skin from the 30 degree weather that is still present in Boston? Not in the slightest. Get back on your rocker already.

Verdict: Quoth Becca: “SOMEONE’S here to see her gynocologist!”

I swear this was not a Photoshop effect, but bizarrely enough, as soon as I snapped the picture, the dress FUSED itself to her ass. As if holding on for dear life. This is 127 Hours: the no pants version.

The differences from last year leaped out and smacked me in the face from the very first train car we stepped into. A likely-delusional older man walked around claiming he was a Berklee School of Music grad (unlikely), asked passengers to name a band, and launched into screeching renditions of hard-to-recognize tunes. He didn’t know half of the bands people suggested anyway. At least he kept his pants on. This was bad enough, but the musical assault only continued to when someone (hopefully I’ll never find out who this someone is, or I’ll have to hurt him/her) stirred the entire car into a frenzied rendition of the Spice Girls’ “Wanna Be”. In the midst of this chaos, people started taking their pants off. So now, pantsless people of all shapes, sizes, genders and ages are down to their underwear and telling me what they want, what they really really want.

After hopping to a different car at the next station that was much quieter, thank goodness, the continuation of the ride went pretty smoothly. We followed the flock of pantsless folk from car to car, and station to station, capturing these precious pantsless moments along the way. The next hitch for these fools? They were supposed to transfer from the Orange Line to the Blue Line, but little did they realize, the Blue Line was closed for the weekend and shuttle buses were running in between several stations. Ohhh did I chuckle! They now had to exit the station to the 20 degree weather, wait in line for shuttle buses to pick them up on the street, and freeze their asses off in the process.

All in all, it was a field day for me and my trusty camera. Whereas I normally have to be incredibly discreet when taking my no-pants pictures, even the cops on the T didn’t care that my camera was flashing at rapid speed. And to see the fruits of my camera’s labor, just scroll down. But brace yourself for impact…this may be too much no-pantsness for you to handle. Take a break if necessary. And don’t forget to hydrate.

And for the GRAND finale…

Offense:

‘Twas the Christmas season in Boston, and all through the street, the frigid air swirled from my head to my feet. The lights were hung on the Faneuil Hall tree with care, in hopes that drunken fools would find their way there. And me in my peacoat and Dan in his hat, had just entered McFadden’s to enjoy a nightcap. When across from the bar there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my chair to see what was the matter. It wasn’t surprising, didn’t happen by chance, but there was the bartender, without any pants. In hooker boots and red panties made of lace, I can guarantee no one was looking at her face. What should always be hidden was out in plain sight, her ass cheeks exposed gave me such a fright. It was horrid and tacky seeing that much of her butt, I had to ask myself if she was indeed a slut. But alas she just fell prey to an intricate dance, she was merely a hopeless victim of Find Your Pants!

Verdict:

The holidays are wonderful, bright and merry. But please, oh please, ladies, do not make them scary. Put some pants on, you’ll feel oh so good. Keep your panties on the inside, as you well know you should. Allow me to spread a little holiday cheer, Merry Christmas to all and may pants always be near!

Happy Holidays my Find Your Pants faithful. This one's a doozy.

In the latest step forward for the feminist movement, the male bartender gets to wear a full elf costume complete with long sleeves and pants...and she gets to be in her underwear. Go women!

Luckily for her, red lace panties provide convenient storage space for all your alcoholic beverage opening devices.

Why keep your exposed ass behind the bar when you can use the power of elevation to attract a wider audience? Question of the day my friends...