I’m going through a leggings phase, and I’m sorry I’m not sorry.
I know my thighs touch, but leggings are just so comfortable!
And they’re socially acceptable. Not to the degree I wear them, but to some degree.
It all started two Halloweens ago, when my lack of creativity and unwillingness to squeeze into (and spill out of) a naughty nurse outfit resulted in my dressing in all black and calling myself a cat.
My roommate at the time let me borrow a pair of her black leggings, and it was love at first wear. What started as a pathetic excuse for a Halloween costume quickly turned into a lifestyle change. And before I knew it, leggings had taken over my wardrobe.
Up until that point, I had convinced myself that I didn’t have the legs to sport leggings. And I don’t. Not even close. In fact, I should be wearing the world’s widest bell-bottoms to make my childbearing hips appear smaller. When I wear leggings, my bottom half looks like an ice cream cone.
But I justified wearing them because, I thought to myself, “there are plenty of people out there who shouldn’t be wearing leggings but do anyway. I can’t possibly be the worst.”
What a horrible, horrible justification.
You’d think I would’ve thrown out every pair I own after my friend said, “Kate. You’re the most spandexed friend I have.”
What he really wanted to say was, “Please stop wearing leggings. Here. Borrow a pair of my jeans.”
But I won’t stop wearing them. Not until something equally as comfortable and much more flattering comes along. Or not until someone finds my stash and throws them all away—doing me and the rest of the world a big favor.
Whichever comes first.
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