A message to all pants-free subway riders in NYC: You are poseurs. I live the pants-free dream everyday. Or at least I did before this cold, arctic air rolled into town. Yesterday I reveled in the sub-tropical 18-degree afternoon by wearing Puma track pants and starting my car without it sounding like Han Solo’s frozen Tauntaun just before it dropped dead. When the temperature gets back to above freezing again, then the pants come and off and sweet freedom returns.