Umm I have some thoughts

and apparently the designer is actually called Monoli as per this tweet:

look at her she's so cute and happy i love this photo

You can learn how to make them here, but this video is in Japanese. If you have basic sewing knowledge, you should be able to get it.

There is no pattern, only a cutting guide. 2 meters of fabric is able to do it perfectly with no fabric waste whatsoever.

Perfect for people who always feel like their clothes never fit! If you are concerned about the size, here are the pants on me (5', 90lbs) and my husband (6'1, don't know but he looks like fanart of Laios).

if you think you are bigger than my husband, all you have to do is scale the rectangles up so this measurement is 1/4 of your waist measurement.

But don't worry if it isn't perfect.

You can wear them as regular pants, or over kimono.

I want you to make these pants. Make monpe and experience the joys of adjustable clothing that will stay with you for years. Experience the joy of sewing something you know will fit and be well-made and usable, with no precise measurements besides hemming them to your height. Put on these pants and feel superior because you made something that the store could never give you.

You do not understand

Most modern Ag operations don’t even have a proper A-Horizon. They’re too busy turning the earth every time they replant. The A-horizon is the Black Gold that makes Soil Soil. It’s a structurally complex soil horizon that must be built in place by the interactions of Plants and Fungi and Insects. It is The Thing that soaks up rain and holds onto it for plants. The A-Horizon is The Thing that builds up when you let a field sit fallow. The act of tilling creates fecundity by breaking up the A-horizon. On a really good Organic no-till farm you might find an A-horizon between 3-6 inches.

His A-horizon was 4 feet deep. 50 inches.

I-

I have no context. His farm was covered in a living skin thick enough for a child to stand in.

Gives me hope for what we could accomplish if we got our collective heads on straight, you know? Like. This was one guy. A brilliant man, who knew what he was up to, but. The thing about brilliant ideas is they can be shared.

Humus, or Humic Compounds, are a cryptic and poorly understood set of organic substances. As the final metabolic result of once-living things being digested first by macroscopic organisms, and then by microorganisms, they resist most forms of analysis, and have cryptic structures. A few that we have managed to isolate and study are the Humic & Fulvic Acids.

Humus has a number of remarkable tendencies. It is capable of retaining water far better than any raw mineral clay; it also retains electrically charged clay granules, which themselves retain mineral ions, all of which is essential to make a soil a high-quality resource for Plants to grow in.

A composter is a box that contains an environment that is conducive to the production of Humus, but the best way to produce it is in-place, by laying layers of organic material down over an unbroken earth and growing things out of that. The interaction of the plants rooting, the fungus weaving itself through everything, the bacteria and archaea metabolizing as they do, and inorganic weathering forces all combine to gradually build up the microscopic equivalent of a complex megastructure capable of retaining far more water, and containing far more nutrients, than any inorganic substrate.

This stuff is black gold. This is the stuff that determines whether or not a plot of land is going to be “productive.” The knowledge of how to make it, how to care for it, is an essential piece of wisdom that our civilization needs to remember.

Fortunately, folks seem to have the right response:

Farmers are more important to the continuity of civilization than administrators, no matter what the elitists say. This knowledge is important.

Boris "professional idiot" Johnson wanted to build an island airport in the immediate area.

it's fucking visible

You weren't kidding they've been trying to get the masts off for 5 years and keep getting foiled because there's probably bombs leaking out of her

“If you feel the need to ask, then you clearly haven’t been paying attention.” The wizard replied vaguely.

“I- w-well, I still have OLD RELIABLE!” I shouted triumphantly as I loosed my dagger from the sheath on my leg, sending it careening towards the wizard’s heart. As the blade made contact with his flesh, it simply snapped off the hilt, and fell worthlessly to the ground. I held the pathetic remains of my trusty dagger before my eyes, the true hopelessness of my quest now finally becoming clear to me.

“Can I just ask- What part of a ‘steel skin’ spell implied to you that a knife would be any more effective than bullets?” The wizard inquired.

“I-I didn’t come packing anything to break through steel! No one told me you could even do that!” I growled defensively, clutching the remains of Old Reliable miserably.

The wizard rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully, seeming to feel almost guilty for heinously murdering my poor, poor dagger. After a moment of quiet repose, he spoke again.

“Listen, man, I think you should just… go. Why don’t you just, er, take something with to show your employer that you slew me, eh?” The wizard offered, walking around his cauldron, past his bookshelves stacked high with ancient tomes. After a minute, he emerged once more, clutching a long, gnarled staff. “Take this! It’s long since fired its last spell, but your employer seems too ignorant of magic to be able to tell.”

I took the staff in my hands, looking it over before handing it back.

“That’s a might kind offer, especially on account of my trying to kill you just now. But, er, my employer sent me to retrieve some tomes of yours, actually.” I admitted sheepishly.

“My tomes? What on earth could they want those for? The incantations are highly dangerous to those not trained in their proper use!” The wizard chuckled confusedly.

“Uh, well, actually they wanted your apothecary tomes. They said the cure-all brews you give out for free are going to run them out of business.” I explained.

“Erm… your employer ordered a hit on me for curing diseases for free?” The wizard asked.

“Well, that, and they wanted your recipes so they could sell your cures themselves.” I answered.

“You work for Big Pharma?” The wizard inquired, his eyebrows narrowing in suspicion.

“Sure do! And they’re paying me big time for this job, so if you could just—“