Before my years of personal choice, corduroy was a hapless fabric to find in clothes.  Bulkiness was a characteristic often unwittingly paired along.  The surface area carried, with each ridge, a compartment for lingering odors – for homes with shrines, this meant a constant reminder that a deity is not in charge of doing your laundry.

In recent, finer tailoring days, it requires less effort to develop a fondness toward its cotton-esque daintiness yet rugged-textured exterior.  I have worn these corduroy pants from American Apparel that are no different than leaving bed sans legs; you feel dressed for comfort, but in reality you are doing so and looking however great the fit allows.

For me, if anyone, odor control has become much less of a concern.  Though, corduroy's attraction for carpets may be the next hurdle.  I'll deal with my OCD afterward.

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