DISCLAIMER: These are not my skinny jeans. Mine are currently shelaccked to my ass and I’m hoping to get them off by Christmas.
The subject of the ever-popular “skinny jean” seems fitting for the day after Thanksgiving. I don’t think of myself as fashion-forward by any stretch of the imagination. My husband commented once that one thing he loved about me was that I am never the girl “in hot pursuit of the next-best handbag or trendy pair of shoes.” He was spot-on with this comment, as last year when I finally bought skinny jeans I am pretty certain I was the last person in my sleepy town to scoop them up.
When I finally did buy skinny jeans, I went the traditional route, and ordered them from the Gap. It just didn’t seem possible that you could go wrong owning such a basic brand. I operated under the assumption that if I liked an “entry-level” label, I would venture upscale with the next pair and perhaps go to Nordstrom. They arrived, were a nice dark blue color, and seemed totally adequate for what I was looking for. Life changes, and so have I this past this year. It’s not so much that I’ve lost weight because I haven’t. I started Crossfit almost a year ago, and my body has just changed dimensions. Some areas of my body have thinned out, whereas others have gained bulk and muscle. The net/net is that the jeans started to sag and look stretched out.
I really didn’t think much about the jeans no longer fitting correctly , until last week when my almost-ten-year-old daughter pointed out the problem to me when I came downstairs wearing my skinny jeans on and a pair of high boots. “Mom…?” (long pause, until I respond…), “Yes, Whit?”…”Um, those jeans don’t look right. They just kind of don’t look skinny anymore.” Longer pause from me, brain registering that soon-to-be-tween daughter has essentially just attempted telling me that I am experiencing a fashion emergency. “What do you mean, honey?” I say, with caution. “Well mom, they are all saggy in the knee. You definitely should not be wearing boots with them.” I laughed out loud, not knowing what else to do, and she raised her eyebrow in a disapproving manner. After she left for school, I evaluated the situation in the mirror and concluded that she was probably right in her assessment of the jeans.
A few days later, I was in Old Navy picking up something for Whitney’s birthday. Everything was on sale, including the jeans. I knew I should try something a little more stylish or suitable for my age, but the truth is that I am pretty cheap and didn’t want to spend a lot if I was going to buy another pair of skinny jeans. The second truth is that I don’t think I really like skinny jeans. I came to this conclusion in the dressing room, where I took a few pairs to try on. If they’d provided me with roof access, I would have used it to jump into the jeans. Instead, I body-wrestled myself into them like a sausage being forced into a casing that might split at any moment. With a large inhaling breath, I quickly zipped them up and studied my profile in the mirror. I made sure they were super tight in the calves so as to pass the “boot test”, and they were actually so tight that I thought my ankles might be blue by the time I reached the checkout line. The price was right, so I took them home.
As the days pass, I realize more and more that skinny jeans will not be a staple item in my wardrobe, no matter how long they are in style. Every time I put mine on, I am drawn to a long sweater or tunic because every time I bend over I can feel my ass busting out of the back. Every time I sit down I feel my thighs so tightly pressed against the fabric that I am certain I will hear a rip at any moment. When I stand up to walk, I lead with my hips, like a cowboy swaggering into a saloon. Only in my case, I am just waiting to get home so that I can change back into my black yoga pants.
My dear skinny jeans, we will never be friends. May our relationship be short. Here’s hoping high-waisted, wide-legged trousers are back in style real soon.
