The thought of subjecting my legs to skinny jeans makes me want to cringe to the point where I might just curl up in a ball on my closet floor. I’ve felt this way for a while, despite my continued use of such pant style. Maybe it’s the warmer weather (and sun! T-god the sun came back!!) that’s giving me spring fever and giving me the urge to cleanse my entire closet of everything I wore in the winter (i.e. too many skinny jeans)? But after some serious self-examination — these are the things I think about before falling asleep at night — I’ve come to the conclusion that skinny jeans are dead to me. And they have been for some time (in my mind, at least).
I remember when skinny jeans became the new norm of denim styles when I entered high school. It didn’t take long for my beloved boot cuts to (all puns intended) receive the boot from my dresser drawers. The void was replaced by jeans that required a certain kind of dance* before the fly could be zipped and buttons buttoned. This was much to my mother’s dismay. She couldn’t understand why I would want anything less than eight extra inches of fabric swirling around my ankle bones. But to me, tight ankle holes? What a novel idea!
A dozen pairs and seven years later, and the novelty is gone.
Skinny jeans aren’t a particularly comfortable experience, anyway. At least not in the way that leggings are — and the two have virtually the same effect. So why do I continue to put my legs through the unpleasantries? For practicality’s sake. Because they’re the unofficial uniform for Saturday nights. Everybody else is wearing them, so I should too.
But no more!
Today marks the start of a self-imposed skinny jean cleanse. Wide-leg pants, I’m coming back to yooooOOOOUuuuu. Results to come.
In the meantime, here’s what I wish was clothing my bottom half…
*You know exactly what I’m referring to here, don’t pretend like you don’t do it too.