Why Won’t You Die, Gaucho?

A couple of nights ago, I was sitting on the patio of the Ben Franklin LatteLand on the Plaza when three women – who were not together — walked by in identical outfits. They sported tight tank tops, heels or wedges and the most hideous pants on earth: the gaucho. I’m dubbing this KC’s warm-weather uniform of choice. Add the now-common Coach logo bag, and then you’ve got the perfect outfit for shopping in Brookside or slumming in Wal-Mart, then going to Cap Grille for a happy hour Stoli Doli.

Seriously, why are gaucho pants still lingering like a bad odor?