Say Yes to the Pants
We all have that one purchase… right? The unapologetically indulgent, absolutely unnecessary purchase we made that is now the sparkle of our closet.
For most, it’s a designer bag or a pair of Manolos—something we justified with wild mental negotiations, but still stare at in awe every time we step into our walk-in.
For me, the dream was never a click-to-cart moment or a casual stroll into my local Louis Vuitton. No—my fantasy was always to travel the world and come home with something luxurious. To walk foreign streets and find, somewhere along the way, the piece. The one that made everything slow down. The one that didn’t speak in words, but in knowing. A whisper that said: “These were made for you.”
And on our 2022 trip to Mallorca, I found them.
It was the only cloudy day in the forecast. A jeans-and-gladiator-sandals kind of day. We were wandering through Puerto Portals, a notoriously posh port town, where every boutique looked like it charged admission just to breathe the air.
Everything around us whispered expensive, elegant, exclusive—the boutiques had a minimum budget of wow.
We walked through several stores, and I felt myself enjoying the feelings of luxury and wealth all around me.
One store: nice, but not my style. I enjoyed watching my friends try on and purchase everything that looked so good on them.
Next store: amazing, but the vibe wasn’t quite right.
And then—the store. The one where I finally felt the edge of my comfort zone. Where I wanted to try something on, but didn’t quite feel worthy yet.
And then—I saw them.
The pants. Philosophy di Lorenzo Serafini (Do they mean ‘Sarah-fini’?)
Silk.
Pristine.
Laced with patterns and markings that looked like they’d been gathered from every corner of the world.
Not my usual style, but somehow, exactly my essence.
I heard the silent roar of every woman in my bloodline cheering me on from 5,000 km away.
So I tried them on.
Typically, I brace myself for impact when it comes to pants. They’re either too long, too tight, or they cling to my—shall we say—voluptuous booty in all the wrong ways. But these… were different.
They didn’t just slip on—they melted onto my skin.
With the right pair of heels, they didn’t just fit—they belonged.
They sculpted me.
Lifted me.
The silhouette was divine.
The feel—iconic.
It was, at last, a full-body yes.
I knew instantly—this was one of those moments. The kind of purchase that would haunt me if I walked away. The kind that doesn’t wait for you to get logical—it waits for you to get honest.
Nothing else on this trip had lit me up the way these pants did. I knew, deep in my European bones, that I wouldn’t come across something like this again.
And still, I found myself walking them to the counter, quietly rehearsing my no.
Is it in the budget?
What would I even wear them with?
Do I really need them?
I stared down at the €700 tag—marked down, but still bold. I wasn’t sure if this was a foolish decision… or a sacred one.
In the end, it wasn’t a voice that answered. It was a feeling.
I had become the woman who buys the silk pants in Mallorca.
So I did it.
No logic, no spreadsheet, no permission from anyone.
Just a silk-on-skin moment of choosing desire.
As the card tapped and the transaction went through, I gave the silver-haired woman behind the counter a soft smile and said, “And a big bag, please.”
She chuckled, and with a knowing nod, of course. My first real indulgence deserved a big bag.
That night, I wore them.
Top-to-toe silk.
The best food I’ve ever had. (Another post to come on the sake and otoro sushi we shared that evening.)
The warm Mallorcan streets alive with style and midnight air.
And the little red bar that sealed the evening in lipstick and laughter.
It wasn’t about the pants anymore.
It was about giving myself an iconic moment. A memory. A yes.
Something that needn’t be rationalized—only savored.
Since then, the money has returned hundredfold.
The pants hang iconically in my closet, waiting for their next night out.
And me? I’m still smiling at the memory of the girl who bought the €700 pants… and finally let herself feel worth it.
Somewhere between the sushi, the streets, and the silk, I met her—the version of me I’d always hoped I’d become.
And though the trip ended, the pants stayed.
So did she.
They hang there now, draped like a secret only I know.
Every time I catch a glimpse of them, I’m transported—back to cobblestone streets, clinking glasses, and the softest hint of Chance Chanel.
It’s in the air, barely there—that alone relives the entire day.
A girl caught between logic and longing.
A woman who said yes to her desire.
Are you Saying Yes to the Pants?
Sí, amor.
Sarah Elle
What’s the One Piece You Said Yes to—Just Because It Lit You Up?
Was it silk, satin, leather, or lace? That one indulgent piece you didn’t need to justify, because your soul already knew. Share your ‘yes’ moment—the outfit, the feeling, the memory.
xx,
Sarah Elle, Editor-in-Chief
