A woman in a cotton-duck Utilikilt paints the crease between an elfin girl's breast and torso. Metallic blue follows the brush and shimmers under her pert boobies. Another painted body stands by the turntable and talks with Tim, owner of the Utilikilt store. A darkened mix of Owl City and "Eye of the Tiger" pounds from the speakers under a ponytailed DJ while soft lights illuminate bekilted mannequins and glint off the model's pierced elf ears. A few wanderers stand mesmerized, but otherwise it's just the artist, the elves, and racks full of kilts.

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A burly, kilted man places wine and bowls of snacks on a table. Tim hands me a beer and we gallantly attempt small talk. His shirt says "smeg" on the front. "Does your shirt reference smegma?" The answer is no. He kindly abandons this interaction and offers to size me for a kilt.

"Welcome to the largest dressing room in Seattle," says Tim. Before I can search for a sign, he holds a kilt between two racks and encourages me to take off my pants right there. The environment is already so intimate—warm lights, food, and paint tracing smoothly over nipples—it's easy to oblige. He chivalrously turns his head away. My pants are folded and the kilt is buttoned. It's undeniably comfortable, being in both the kilt and the store. The familiarity between patrons, artist, models, and merchants is endearing, and the environment gently nudges kilts and nudity from embarrassing to emboldening.

Want The Stranger to take off our pants at your party? E-mail the date, place, and party details to partycrasher@ thestranger.com.

This story has been updated since its original publication.