If you attended the Newnham Garden Party, you may have seen me wandering around in Regency garb. Like all 19th century rakes, I sported a tailcoat, cravat, waistcoat, breeches, and ridiculously long socks. You may not, however, have realised the trouserless trials and tribulations I faced in the hour prior.

I had it all planned: masculine Regency fashion would allow me an outfit that was fun and maximalist, but would also challenge gender-based restrictions in line with Newnham’s history. In the weeks leading up, I concocted a look that would hopefully resemble something in the realm of Mr Darcy. A measuring tape and one impulsive decision later, a Regency tailcoat from Etsy was hurtling towards me in the mail.

“They looked rather good. That was, until they disappeared too”

Of course, like any good Regency gent, I needed some snazzy breeches to match. But when my breeches tragically disappeared in the post, only a week before the garden party, I was left fashioning a pair of beige trousers as a substitute. Nonetheless, they looked rather good. That was, until they disappeared too…

Now, you may be wondering how I came to lose my second pair of trousers of the week. A fair assumption, considering the name of this article – it’s what you’re here to find out, after all!

A few days before the Newnham Garden Party, my parents collected my belongings so I could head home for the summer. In May Week’s final days, I was slogging it without any bedsheets (bar a comedically small blanket) and begging my friends to let me borrow their pots and pans. Most of my wardrobe was also sent home, except for my Regency wear. Can you see where this is going?

On the day of the garden party, I realised, to my horror, that I had somehow accidentally packed my trousers and sent them home as well. Picture the scene: I was dressed entirely as a Regency gentleman … but only from the waist up. I scrambled around, ripping empty drawers open as though a pair of breeches would materialise before me. It felt a little like the disappointment of opening the fridge to find there’s no food in it, except with the added fear of having to attend a garden party without any trousers. A panicked text home confirmed that my trousers had escaped to 135 miles away.

“If I couldn’t find any soon, this Regency gent would look more risqué than planned…”

Wearing itty-bitty shorts on bottom and a tailcoat-cravat combo on top, I clattered down the corridor towards my friend’s room. After some extremely frantic knocking, she swung open the door, looking baffled at my bare legs. I began explaining (in a garbled fashion) that the shorts were not, in fact, a controversial new take on the Regency rake, and I had lost my trousers. With it being the height of summer, there was not even a single pair in my room. Nada. Zilch. If I couldn’t find any soon, this Regency gent would look more risqué than planned…

Luckily, my breeches breakdown was stopped in its tracks by my friend’s quick thinking. From her cupboard, she produced a pair of brown linen trousers – exactly my size. When craftily tucked into my long socks, they replaced my old breeches perfectly. As it turns out, anything can become a pair of breeches when you’re in dire straits.

You can understand my relief at now having a complete outfit. Especially because I then realised that, in my flap, I had locked myself out of my room. A trip down to the porter’s lodge in shorts, no shoes, and a Regency tailcoat may have been ever so slightly embarrassing.

But, I finally made it to the garden party, and it was fabulous. One thing I massively enjoyed was its sheer variety in fashion. I shared many lovely compliments with those I met and even managed to avoid overheating in my woollen, weather-inappropriate attire.

“There was something intangibly liberating about dressing up and going full-out: I could finally discuss my love for fashion with others”

And even though my breeches were not quite how I imagined, in the end, I loved how my foray into Regency fashion turned out. It allowed me to play with gender expression and embodied a 19th century dandy look. And even though my trousers were a last-minute addition, I had to pin up the bottom of my waistcoat, and the shoes I bought from Vinted were a little big, the look didn’t need to be perfect. It fulfilled everything I wanted it to. There was something intangibly liberating about dressing up and going full-out: I could finally discuss my love for fashion with others.

Isn’t that the point of it all? Connecting with people over the things we enjoy? Fashion and historical wear should be something we can all indulge in if we wish, and it shouldn’t have to be perfect. It should just be fun. After all, sometimes when things go wrong, it gives you a good story and a better outfit.

So go forth, and wear that Regency tailcoat without shame (and without trousers, if you have to)…