Raincoats can be stylish. Paddington Bear’s classic yellow slicker? Adorable. A long black trench? Sleek and dramatic. My own packable raincoat, covered in bees? Charming, if I do say so myself.
Rain pants are another story. What stuffed animal wears them? What spy mysteriously turns a corner in a pair? What cute patterns do they come in?
Like many Americans, lured as we can be by charming bees and mysterious silhouettes, I long ignored rain pants. I thought of them as niche hiking gear, relegated to the purview of the outdoorsy and certainly not to the purview of the stylish.
When I moved to Denmark, I learned I was wrong.
Picture this: I was freshly in Copenhagen, and I was fresh on a bike, commuting like the Danes but constantly arriving to important places freezing cold, with my pants somewhere on the scale from damp to soaked.
The true Copenhageners, by contrast, lived up to their reputation as global fashionistas. Rain or shine, they arrived at their destinations looking chic—less tortured by their commutes, it seemed, than invigorated by them. What was I doing wrong? I wondered, my wet jeans dragging across the floor.
Soon, I discovered their secret. They weren’t just wearing raincoats over their clothes, they were also wearing rain pants.
I bought the first pair of rain pants I could find, at a Danish big-box store. They were so big on me that the first time I put them on my partner said, “Nice Hammer pants.”
Sure, they didn’t look cute. But, much like face masks and pimple patches, they were a means to an end. I loved sitting in Danish class in my puffed-sleeve shirt and totally dry wide-legged trousers, my new rain gear dripping on the classroom coat hooks behind me.
One of the best parts of living abroad is the way you begin to rethink the axioms of your motherland as you expand your worldview. Sure, yes, social democracy. But also: Were umbrellas a sham?
The Danes, I had noticed, were not fans. You had to fight with umbrellas in the wind, plus they weren’t that useful against the many brands of Danish rain—misty, sleety, slanted.
So, as darkness descended across Denmark, and the winter’s misty spitting never seemed to stop, I began trading in my umbrella for my rain pants, wearing them on and off the bike.
I slipped my rain pants over my jeans, pulled on my raincoat, and explored the city on wet days, when I normally wouldn’t have bothered going out at all. I pulled my rain pants over my sweatpants, zipped up my raincoat, and took a walk to the grocery store to pick up some snacks. I looked at the gray sky as I packed up my backpack for a day out, and I shoved in my rain pants, just in case I needed them later.
I felt free. Specifically my hands, both of them, were free of an umbrella, free to shop, snap pictures, swing around.
More broadly, I was free of the tyranny of the weather. I was beginning to fully assimilate the northern European mantra of, “There is no bad weather, only bad clothes.”
Because in a country like Denmark, if you wait around for good weather, you’ll spend a lot of time waiting around.
I started taking those rain-or-shine posi-vibes—and my rain pants—on vacation. If the forecast for my trip predicted rain, I would pack them with my raincoat in lieu of an umbrella. My new lack of fear about vacation rain also opened up opportunities for budget trips during less-inviting times of the year.
Like any good travel gear, rain pants are lightweight and easy to stuff in your luggage or in a backpack for a day out on the town. They’re also not a single-scenario product. I’ve worn mine as impromptu snow pants, as an extra layer against the wind, or just to keep my pants clean during a potentially messy activity (playing with kids on a playground, for example).
In Wirecutter’s rain pants product guide, which is mostly geared toward hikers, writer Jenni Gritters admits that she, too, uses rain pants for all kinds of things: quick walks in the woods, snowstorms, biking, gardening, and other muddy outdoor chores.
Versatile as they are, rain pants aren’t always an ideal companion. A rain jacket plus rain pants can seem bulky if you’re short on space, so I don’t usually pack them unless there’s rain in the forecast. Rain pants can also be kind of annoying to remove in the middle of the day, if the skies end up clearing or, say, you settle in at a restaurant.
There are times where an umbrella admittedly makes more sense. Any quick trip out—a sprint to the car, perhaps—is going to be easier to manage with a tool you don’t have to put on and take off. I also don’t pack rain pants for warmer climates (as with raincoats, rain pants can trap heat and sweat). While I’ve managed to wear rain pants over dresses and skirts, they definitely make more sense over pants.
And there are no two ways about it: Even the best pair of rain pants, as Jenni writes in our rain pants guide, are “somewhat like trash bags.” But if you’ve ever worn a $2 rain poncho, then you know the truth: When you’re under threat of getting soaked, calculations about cuteness quickly go out the window.
As much as my partner enjoys singing “U Can’t Touch This” every time I pull on my rain pants, I look forward to the day I upgrade.
And when that day comes, my colleagues have already sold me on Marmot’s PreCip Eco Pants, Wirecutter’s pick for best rain pants. They’re breathable, durable, well priced, and backed by a great warranty. Plus, they have zippered side pockets with taped seams, so your essentials stay both accessible and dry.
Perhaps my favorite feature, however, are the ankle zips, which my current pair lacks. While taking these pants off in public might still be a challenge once you’re muddy or wet, if you need to slip them on fresh, you won’t even need to take off your shoes.
Marmot’s PreCip Eco Pants also solve a very rain-pants problem I know well—they aren’t too big. Testers were impressed that the pants were roomy to pull over other layers without being so big that they tripped over them. This is in part because the pants are available in three different inseam lengths and also have a handy ankle cinch.
Top pick
These lightweight, comfortable rain pants have ankle zips and ankle cinches. Plus, they come in regular, short, and long versions to accommodate multiple heights.
These lightweight, comfortable rain pants have ankle zips and ankle cinches. Plus, they come in regular, short, and long versions to accommodate multiple heights.
Most of the time, you don’t need rain pants. In fact, I hope you never need them. I hope you have only warm, sunny vacations. I hope you’re never wet and cold on a boat ride down the Seine. I hope you’re never biking through a field of tulips with your pants soaked through. I hope you don’t spend a single minute staring down a pair of damp jeans that are still drying on the hotel radiator as you work up the courage to put them back on.
It is in those very situations that you’ll wish you had rain pants.
Before I moved to Denmark, rain pants weren’t on my radar. Since then, I’ve worn them the world over: on a boat tour of Amsterdam, on a sleety day of sightseeing in Vienna, over a whole season of snowy walks in Boston. Ironically, I still haven’t worn them on a hike.
I just moved to Philadelphia a few weeks ago, and today is the first rainy day in my new city. And that can only mean one thing: It’s Hammer time.
This article was edited by Hannah Rimm and Maxine Builder.
