By Tara Cavanaugh
I can’t describe how I crossed over to the dark side. All I know is that it happened slowly, the way a lobster boils to an eventual death.
In hindsight, I see the progression, the gateway drugs. First I was that horrified women were wearing skinny jeans, so I went bootcut. Then, I settled for straight leg. Then my everyday jeans were skinny jeans. And then suddenly one day, it didn’t seem so bad to go get groceries in leggings, and then it made sense to throw on a top to get dinner downtown that night.
I live in a college town, and as we walked to the Mexican restaurant I saw myself surrounded by legging-clad coeds. I was one of Them.
I even found myself using the same delusional self-talk that I’m sure They all use: it’s OK if I pair them with a longer shirt. It’s OK if I have control top leggings on. It’s OK if I size up, so they aren’t as tight as nylons. It’s OK, they’re just so comfffffyyy! And finally, the kicker: these don’t look so bad, right?
The delusions even affect my reality: I KNOW they look terrible, yet when I look in the mirror, well, they seem passable.
After a long, hard-fought battle between reason and vanity, between my staunchly nonconformist self and the mindless trends of the masses, between yes, that everlasting fight between fashion and style, I wave a white flag.
Next, who knows? Maybe I’ll end up wearing shorts cut off from mom jeans at a music festival. Maybe I’ll add shiny taupe pantyhose and an ironic Minnie Mouse t-shirt.
There’s only so much I can take, people. I give in, and I salute you.