Sunday, March 22, 2015

A Horrifying Realization

Over the past few years, a horrifying realization has begun to slowly sink in. It's on the order of "Soylent Green is people!" Or like when Bob Dylan first went electric. Or maybe like that moment in The Sixth Sense when you realize Bruce Willis has been dead the whole time.

Here it is: I am officially wearing mom jeans. Like, a LOT.

I have friends with young teenagers, some of whom babysit for us. (Side bar: 13 or 14 is the best age for babysitters. They've just taken CPR and actually want to interact with your children. Four years later, they'll be texting their boyfriends (or worse) while your kids set fire to the curtains. So I'm all about 13 or 14 year-old babysitters, even if it means being forced to drive them home at the end of the night).

On the rare occasion that we get a babysitter, I like to do reconnaissance on what "the kids these days" are wearing, and I have some fashion news for anyone who's been living in a subterranean nuclear fallout shelter for the last four years or so. "These days," when jeans are involved, they are--exclusively--tapered "skinny" jeans.

Having perceived this trend awhile ago, I broke down and bought a few pairs of skinny jeans, and all I can say is they are a total racket, because my thighs and ass look anything but skinny in those fuckers. I also, however, still own quite a few pairs of "boot cut" jeans, and I wear them. Happily, obliviously, and often.

Sensing that "boot cut" were perhaps the two dirtiest words in the 8th grade female vernacular, I decided to query one of our babysitters on the topic in depth.

"Tell me honestly," I said, looking up at her (because she is at least four inches taller than me), and then down at her painted-on skinny jeans, which in her case, actually performed as advertised. "Are boot cut jeans really that bad? I mean, moms can still wear them at least ... right?"

I said this last part in a small, hopeful voice and gestured to the pair of Lucky brand boot cut jeans I was wearing, and that I'd bought at Costco two years prior, and that looked like something I had donned in preparation for the Johnstown flood, because I'd forgotten to bring my clogs (yes, clogs) with me to the tailor and was too lazy to go back and get them before having my jeans hemmed halfway up my ankles.

She looked at me with a mixture of kindness and pity and said something that was meant to be reassuring. But I could tell she was just being nice. I could see it in her eyes and in the nervous way she twirled a lock of her thick, long, healthy hair. My worst fears were confirmed. I had crossed the Rubicon into full on mom jeans territory and there was no going back.

At that moment, I knew I should just give up and stop trying not to pee a little bit every time I cough or sneeze. Because after all, if you're going to suffer the indignity of wearing mom jeans, you had better OWN that shit.

1 comment:

  1. I love my Costco Lucky Brand mom jeans sooo much I searched Ebay for days to find case the ones I have wear out. :)


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