I'm pissed off.
But a good kind of pissed off...I guess.
I bought a pair of kickass trouser jeans 2.5 years ago, and I was only able to wear them once before I FUPA'd and muffin-topped my way out of them. Hell, they were a little tight in the ole fupe when i bought them, but I'd hoped the wide legs and a little weight loss would make them more comfortable.
Wrong. I wore them once, and I remember the day very well because the pants were so tight as to make me feel self-conscious, and I had on a pair of new, ill-advised shoes that so brutalized my feet that my bunions could have pressed charges. The fashion police should have arrested the shoes on color alone: lime green is not for everything.
Add to that a romantic banana yellow top, and you've got a recipe for Laura's ultimate discomfort: an ensemble with too much going on. I mean, I like attention and all, but when I wear something that just tries too hard, I feel like the biggest trendwhore in town - literally. Nothing makes me feel more fat and exposed than an overly ambitious ahn-SAMB.
So I put the pants away on the top shelf of my closet, hoping for a day when I could wear them the way they deserved to be worn - comfortably fitted. I took them out maybe 3 times over the next year, but it was no use; I was growing 25 pounds heavier than the day I bought them. I tucked them away on a sweater shelf, with the fear/understanding that I'd eventually throw them out in one of my semi-annual freakout clutter sweeps.
A couple of weeks ago, I saw them on the sweater shelf and decided to put them on my denim pile. I didn't try them on because I was just beginning to fit into other 2-years-old-and-never-worn pants, and I couldn't handle the disappointment if this pair should continue to pinch my FUPA.
Last night I was in bed considering the next day's wardrobe. Friday is cazh/denim day, and I realized all 3 pairs of jeans in my current rotation were dirty and stretched. I took note of the old pile of jeans on my shelf, and decided to try them on when I woke up.
This morning I pulled out 3 pairs of old jeans, and decided to try the trousers on first since they looked so clean and new. There was no struggle to pull them up over my hips, no struggle to button and zip. I had forgotten the pants were "low-rise" (which is all relative when you're plus shopping; a 7" zipper is still better than a 14" momjeans zipper, but not by much), and now they were struggling to sit on my hips. There was a gap at the back where my ass/back fat should have been. Instead of clinging to my hips/upper thighs before falling straight to the hem, the outseam looked deflated around the largest part of my body. It caved around my knees. With no ass to fill it, the seat was empty and sagging. With no dumptruck to hold it up, the wide hem dragged on the floor.
It was a sorry sight to behold - watching a pair of structured jeans, once magnificent and untouchable in its constant disapproval, flop lifelessly around my shrunken legs. It's gratifying and at the same time disappointing, like seeing your 8th grade English teacher buying tampons. Like selling a Hustler magazine to a respected town cop. Like hearing a bitchy coworker take a fierce dump in the stall next to you. It's an equalizer, to see something so superior brought down to a human level...but at what cost?
Still, I'm wearing the pants today if only as a bleak reminder of how the masters can become mastered. And because they're really fucking comfortable.
So there's that,