(Note: This article was originally published in The Courier-Journal Saturday SCENE on January 13, 2001. The column was entitled "The Best: A Continuing Search for the Best of Everything" – CM)
To be sure, I can’t remember the last time I sported denim blues in favor of the classic, relaxed nonchalance of khakis. They’re roomier, nattier and, to my mind, seem to elicit a sartorially correct nod from those who appreciate a certain style.
Caveat emptor. All khakis are not created equal.
Take it from me. Over the years I’ve tossed away countless hundreds of dollars on inferior-quality khaki trousers cut from cloths so gossamer-thin you could wrap cheese in them. Many were hastily sewn together to prove perpetually ill fitting and looked as though they would make an unwelcome addition to the rag basket after six months of regular laundering. Within months, cuff folds tatter and fray, inseams rip, pockets mysteriously develop holes and become detached.
And, mind you, these were trousers purchased from high-end, mainstream retailers, designed and marketed by designers so well known that my 6-year-old niece is familiar with their latest fashion offerings. All met with the same unremarkable, premature demise.
Alas, no longer. I’ve discovered the king kahuna of khakis – Bills Khakis.
Apparently, I’ve not been alone in my quest for the superior khaki. In 1984, a college student, Bill Thomas, tired and frustrated of buying cheap, throwaway khakis, stumbled upon vintage World War II khakis for $12 a pair from an Army-Navy store. He liked them because they were made from heavy cotton cloth with deep pockets and resonated with the simplicity and quality of an era long past.
(Khakis are a product of British colonialism in the 1840s. British officers, while stationed in India, would dye their white ducks and cotton pajamas with a tawny-colored plant extract, mud and tea to create a uniform more suitable to the climate and better to match the sands. The actual word “khaki” is derived from the Hindu and Urdu word for “earth” or “dust colored.”)
Six months later, the surplus store’s stock was sold out and had no prospect of getting more.
Instinctively, Thomas knew that if he was searching for quintessential khakis, then there must be others searching, too. Just months before starting a job as an advertising copywriter at Chicago ad agency, Thomas found a manufacturing plant in Pennsylvania to produce 250 pairs of pants from his own design. He sold them from the trunk of his car for $59. He soon sold out.
By 1990, he had his startup business with only $10,000 in capital. By 1991, Bills Khakis had produced 350 pairs and was beginning to sell them to upscale retailers. Today, Bills Khakis in Reading, Pa., produces more than 100,000 pairs. The product is sold in more than 400 stores nationwide. Bills Khakis are worn by such exacting consumers as David Letterman and Bill Gates.
What makes Bills the daddy of khaki?
Bills Khakis are constructed from heavy 8.5-ounce cotton twill. They possess drill cloth pockets that seem to run almost knee deep. They’re roomy. They’re comfortable. They’re stylish. They meet rigorous quality control standards and sport twill seams, heavy brass zippers and horn buttons. They are lavish in a crumpled, casual way.
When I purchased my first two pairs of Bills Khakis, the salesperson told me upfront that they would quickly become my favorite khakis. Well, he was right. All other khakis in my wardrobe have been summarily relegated to the second string – the back of the closet. After more than a year of repeated wearing and washing, my Bills show little sign of giving up the ghost any time soon. They still look, feel and fit great.
If you’re like me and disdain the wasted effort and money invested in replacing your longstanding favorites, you’ll appreciate the consistency, solid workmanship and value of Bills. You’ll be comfortable. You’ll be happy. Bills, moreover, come with a 100 percent guarantee.
You can find Bills Khakis locally at The Fashion Post and Rodes. They retail for about $90 per pair.
Worth every penny.
– Christopher Martin
He's cut from a different cloth.
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