Daddy long-legs: chinos with unfinished hems.

Ready-to-wear trousers are rarely ready to wear. Some tweaking is almost always necessary, if not in the waist or seat then certainly with the hem, which, on better trousers, is left unfinished and long enough for Herman Munster. A decent alterations shop should be able to turn around a few pairs within a week, which is considerably faster than the two to four months typical of fully bespoke or made-to-measure (customized to a standard pattern). But if having trousers made is an option, why fool around with ready-to-wear in the first place? Cost, of course—a consideration that becomes acute when dealing with washable cotton trousers intended for warm-weather wear.

Like polo shirts, the instant you start laundering your trousers the dimensions will change. If you have gone to the considerable effort and expense of having trousers made in a washable cloth you might be unhappy to learn that, no matter the precautions taken, sometime around wash number four the waistband will tighten or a seam will pucker, effectively undoing the precision and labor of your tailor. This inevitability raises an important philosophical question: what is a tailored garment with uncertain dimensions? Rather than prod the existential foundation of trousers, I decided to limit the bespoke option to those made of wool and linen. Put another way, washable, warm-weather trousers should be ready-to-wear.

Since that happy resolution, I have learned that there is style to be reaped in the somewhat imperfect shapes of this type of trouser. Whereas bespoke trousers hang in perfectly tapering lines, breaking slightly over the shoe, and moving fluidly with the wearer, the ready-to-wear trouser made of washable cotton might cling or bow, bunch or sag, crease, rumple or wilt. With use and washing they will certainly fade; with love they will fray. This character is particularly welcome when a finely tailored jacket is introduced. Similar to the effect of a sculpted bust emerging from a roughly hewn plinth, the latter serves as a foil to the former, accentuating the beauty that can be coaxed from cloth while preserving the honesty of the medium.

A beloved pair of chinos drip-dries following a flash downpour.  Notice how they have retained the wearer's shape. — A beloved pair of chinos drip-dries following a flash downpour. Notice how they have retained the wearer's shape.

Not unlike the exciting nomenclature of loafers, casual cotton trousers have their own secret language: chinos, drills, khakis, ducks. Parsing the precise definitions of each can be exciting for the enthusiast, but the common theme is inexpensive cotton cloth, neutral coloring and lineages that invariably lead to the military. They have retained the rugged allure of campaign and adventure and this is perhaps why the style endures. Of course unhappy things result when shoehorned into a business context. The ubiquitous khaki was never intended as business-wear; that it has become one of the unofficial symbols of corporate dullness is its own retribution. Wear them to a vineyard, a sports event, even a garden party—anything but a conference room.

There is one rather important decision to be made at the outset, however. Sometime following World War II when this style of trouser gained civilian acceptance a sort of division formed between British and American versions. The former retained some of its Military stiffness and slightly trimmer silhouette. By contrast, the American version became somewhat fuller, straighter and altogether more casual. I wouldn’t say the differences are dramatic—it's really an experiential distinction. This is best demonstrated by comparing the offerings of Bill’s Khakis with those found at Cordings. The former is a relative newcomer offering three fits, the fullest of which is patterned from a wartime original. The latter is a rickety shop in London’s Piccadilly that, among heaps of English country clothing, sells chinos in an inimitable cut with the most obnoxious button fly ever conceived. Both are excellent.

Finally, I’d like to rally women to the cause of this type of trouser. Father’s Day promotions tend to be saccharine suggestions of novelty cufflinks and sticky colognes. These things are better ignored in favor of items that sacrifice sentimentality for practicality and style. Buy the men in your lives some ready-to-wear cotton trousers—they have both by the armful.