I bought a pair of patchwork denim, very, very wide bags - and thought they were the bees knee's. I remember turning up at Birmingham Locarno one night and had to run the gaunlet of p*ss taking from some of the funk crowd outside.
Even my mother thought they were crap. I remember coming down the stairs at home, in a hurry, with said troosers on and foot getting caught in the bottom of the other leg - and bouncing down the stairs. A couple of mates were there and my mother lectured me on how dangerous the bloody things were in front pf my mates - who obviously enjoyed my humilation.
I was out of dance floor action for weeks - and gave the troosers away soon after.