I own a pair of skinny jeans. They were a birthday gift from my boyfriend (they fit perfectly, despite the fact that I can’t even find pants to fit myself–no wonder people asked if he was gay). But I hadn’t bought them before.
That I hadn’t yet given in to the trend has little to do with being opposed to wearing skinny jeans (though they don’t do much in the body-flattering category) and more with discomfort in conforming to the style of pants every store arbitrarily decided the general public should don.
At one point, several years ago, I was at a store looking for work pants–you know, those uncomfortable dress pants that regardless of what cute name you give them are still obviously a style originally designed for men–and all I saw were skinny pants.
“Do you have anything other than skinny pants in this entire store?” I asked the salesperson, thinking she’d point me to a section right in front of my eyes and I’d laugh off my idiocy and blindness, grab a pair in a size I knew fit me in this brand, and be on my way.
“No,” she said.
That’s when I decided to rebel against skinny pants.
It hasn’t done me any good, really, except it has saved me lots of money since I haven’t been able to buy pants for the past few years. Lately I’ve seen some extra wide-legged jeans in stores, so I think the imposed style may be starting to shift to impossibly baggy, which isn’t great either. However, it does mean I can break down and buy skinny jeans now.
So I did. I ordered them online, so of course there’s a big possibility they won’t fit, and I’ll have to save my skinny jean conformity for another day. In the meantime, I can always wear my old pair that have somehow lasted 6 years, though my average wear-time before holes appear in the crotch is typically 2-3 years (seriously, these are miracle jeans. My ex-boyfriend wasn’t gay, but he may have been magic).