Typically, I don't have much shame when it comes to wearing something out of the ordinary. I wore a Hawaiian shirt to my 10-year high school reunion, and I've had an irony-free mustache for over two years. I didn't think wearing a pair of pants would be that different.

I didn't sleep very well on Sunday night. I woke up with extreme stomach pain, which was a result of mixing spicy Szechuan food with my JNCO anxiety. I even needed to give myself a pep talk on my couch before commuting to work, because I was starting to question all of my life choices.

After I mustered up the courage to leave my apartment, I found myself searching for my reflection in storefront and car windows, double- and triple-checking to see just how foolish I actually looked. I was careful to not trip over my pants when walking up or down stairs, and laughed at the swishing of the pants as I glided down the street.

Physically, I've always considered myself the epitome of average, so I've been accustomed to blending in with the masses. Throughout the commute I noticed people doing double-takes and staring with confusion, but instead of feeling embarrassed it was oddly exhilarating.

Within my 25-minute commute to work, my shame of wearing JNCOs had morphed into a bizarre confidence.