Jeans Therapy

Can Liz Claiborne's Redesigned Pants Boost a Sagging Company?

Richard Ostell, creative director at Liz Claiborne, is designing for women looking for pants that are flattering and styles that suit their age. (By Helayne Seidman For The Washington Post)

NEW YORK

In the clothing business, there is no more elusive a dream than creating the perfect pair of pants.

"There's a challenge with every garment, but with pants and jeans you have to go up and down and around," says Richard Ostell, creative director of Liz Claiborne. "Men are generally straight up and down. There are more variations in women's bodies."

Businesses have risen and careers have been launched on a good pair of trousers.

A few years ago, Michael Kors designed a pair of black wool pants that sold for $1,000. For that price, Kors knew "they better have voodoo in them." Apparently they did. He reported selling 300 pairs. Alvin Valley rose to prominence in the past few years as the go-to designer for socialites searching for pants that could make a rear end look perky.

Banana Republic brags about its variety of pant silhouettes. Land's End has been crowing this spring about having pants for everyone from petites to plus sizes. And Eddie Bauer hosted a mini runway presentation recently to show off its new pants selection and boast about an exacting fit. One model after another walked across a blond wood floor to show off the brand's petite cuts, its fuller women's cut, its lower rise, its curve-friendly proportions. A spokeswoman offering narration reassured the audience that there were no "mom jeans" in the collection.

For Liz Claiborne, a failing 31-year-old brand on the hunt to reclaim lost customers, the promise of perfect pants serves as bait.

After swimsuits, pants are the most difficult shopping experience for a woman, notes Pamela Thomas-Graham, group president of Liz Claiborne Inc. She is sitting in the company's 12th floor conference room at its headquarters in the Garment District here. She has spent more than a few hours studying women and their fitting-room adventures and has come to realize that the anguished encounters between a woman and a pair of pants are about much more than a single clothing purchase.

Trousers represent the communication gap between the fashion industry and Everywoman. And "low-rise" is a description fraught with meaning. From the Midwest to the South, women say the same thing: It is a silhouette for teenagers, for starlets, for skinny models. Low-rise jeans are a disavowal of the realities of a woman's body. They are for exhibitionists. They are ridiculous. They . . . are . . . not . . . for . . . me.

"I don't have a lot of hips or a butt, but I have a little tummy," says Adrienne Davis, 45, who used to be a devoted Liz Claiborne customer. "The way the low-rise cuts me there -- " She pauses for an instant and then let's out a howl of disgust: "Eee-yow-ech!"

Virtually every manufacturer in the premium denim market promises customers that its jeans will magically give the appearance of long legs, a high derriere and thin thighs. All many women want are dungarees that won't inadvertently reveal their underwear or accentuate a thick midriff. To this end, these women pass along fit assessments of trouser brands with the urgency of a hot stock tip.

Many shoppers are convinced that the fashion industry just doesn't give a lick about anyone over the age of 25. Those omnipresent low-rise pants are simply the most egregious offenders on a long list of unsympathetic trends. Skinny jeans might be a close second.