Updated: Sep 20, 2018
Notice, I'm calling this post "pants." Because leggings. are. pants.
Here we go on my pants rants. (Yes, plural because I need to discuss two forms of pants. And because it rhymes and I like that very much.)
I hate Jeans. I'm sorry, denim designers, I mean no disrespect, I know plenty of people who think very highly of your products. All of California, apparently, lives in Jeans. Farmers and ranchers see denim as not just a wardrobe staple but an occupational necessity. Every single person who is allowed "casual Friday" and looks forward to getting to wear-Jeans-to-work one day of the week - denim is dear to these people.
Just not to me. Because of the stupidness of how I look in Jeans. I own two pair. Purely out of necessity, might I add, and I don't love either one.
I already know, please don't say it- I just haven't found the right pair. The right brand. The most flattering look. The best way to wear them.
Blah, blah, blah. I've heard it all. I've had people show me their brands. I've had salespeople bring me different kinds to try on and guess what - THEY ALL COME UP SHORT WHEN COMPARED TO MY LEGGINGS!
I don't mean to yell (lie. Yes, I do,) its just that they never fit the way my brain sees them fitting before I put them on. This is not the fault of the Jeans so much as the fault of my genes. (Loving food is an inherited trait, people!)
Here's a typical trip-to-the-dressing room experience. I'm usually in seven kinds of a hurry, so I'm a little sweat-ish. (Sorry. Sorry, next person to try the jeans I'm inevitably not going to like.) Pulls on first pair. Only comes to the top of my ankle bone. Looks like a pair of culottes. I think, no.
Next pair. This one requires some jumping to get into. Okay, not a big deal, I can jump a bit. Whoosh - on. Button.... and there's some room up top? Like, a weird amount of room. Check label, make sure I didn't pull these out of the maternity section. No stretchy front panel. No maternity brand. Hmmmm... so the thighs are so tight I had to jump and the waist is large enough I could carry a teddy bear in there. These, too, land on the "no" pile.
NEXT! Jump, jump, jump - cripes do I have to scale the door and jump off the top to get into these suckers? Check the tag - no I didn't stupidly grab a size 2. Okay, one more try. Jump... And. I'm. In. Check mirror - maybe all that work was worth it. Retinas burning! Legs look like sausage casing! Get these pants off me now!
Usually at this point I proceed to fall over trying to get these incredible eye-sores off my person. At which point the thumping and swearing causes the salesperson to "check on me" (call security.)
And... its time for Jess to go.
So, another unsuccessful trip to Jeans-land in the books. That was un-fun, maybe next time I can schedule it on the same day as a Mammogram or Tetanus shot.
Sorry reader. Sorry for the picture that may have put in your brain. And sad news for you - we haven't gotten to the plural (meaning more than one) part yet.
A stretchy, pattern-y hug for my legs. Just enough pattern to hide the flaws, (are her thighs really that wide or is that an illusion?) just enough stretch to make sure they go up at the beginning of the day (oooh, abs!) and expand through the end of the day, (awwww, when's the baby due?) and with the right shirt, skirt or dress the bad parts get covered anyway (its called a "thass." Where your thighs meet your.. butt except it kind of makes its own part and it has its own name. Not everyone has one - you must be incredibly special if you do.)
Best part of this very logical argument? Price tag.
I can probably buy two to three pair of leggings for the price of one pair of jeans.
"Ma'am, that pair comes in multiple colors."
Come to mama, I've got a whole stack of friends I'd like you to meet and a very nice shelf you can live on.