The devil wears skinny jeans

Every generation has a fashion trend they should be at least slightly ashamed of. If you can’t remember or recognize some horrid fashion faux pas from your own generation, think a little harder. Go look through your pictures until you find one that you have to justify WHY you were wearing WHAT you were wearing. If you find yourself saying, “it was the style” or, “everyone did that” or, “I promise it was cool…” you’ve found your generation’s mistake.

Hair styles count too. Bleached, bangs, feathered? Straight, streaks, side-ponytail?

I’m starting to wonder if the lack of world peace is somehow connected to fashion trends. As soon as we find something every demographic can agree on, global tranquility will follow soon thereafter.

My generation—those of us now in our late 20’s—is not at all devoid from fashion tragedies. In elementary school we tagged our stonewashed jeans and tucked them right into the two pairs of fluorescent socks we were wearing. In early junior high we tied the flannel shirts around our waists with pride. Late junior high saw carpenter jeans and several phases of “the awkward years.” In high school we fluffed our “Utah Claw bangs” with emphasis and we AquaNet-ed them in place like it was nobody’s business.

A lot of that was probably more from my brother’s generation (now in his early 30’s) but on my good days I’m a follower; I proudly let my siblings lead the way.

I was/am/forever will be part of a generation that sagged their pants. Mostly boys, with their boxer shorts showing, and their pants nearly around their ankles. We all tried not to think how those pants could possibly stay up, and I still wonder how many boys also had tighty-whities under their “boxers.”

For a long time I was ashamed that I was part of that generation. Some of us knew better: I wore my pants right where they should be…somewhere above my waist, thank you.

The jeans I used to wear are now called “mom-jeans.” Now it’s a “style.” I could get away with it in 10th grade…only stars and famous people can even ATTEMPT it now.
Fail.

Somewhere along the time continuum, that generation (myself excluded) grew up, got married, graduated college, got real jobs, and could finally afford belts for their saggy-pants.

Somewhere after all those 20-somethings bought belts there was this weird Twilight-zone-ish transition. I’m convinced it happened overnight somewhere around 2007. And I blame anyone over age 50. You mocked their sagging jeans. You offered to buy them belts. You questioned their intelligence.

And so the fashion industry rebelled. They despised your mocking and vowed to get you back.

Someone invented “skinny jeans.” (Insert shudder here.)
Perhaps the Devil himself invented skinny jeans. (I hear he also wears Prada.)

Skinny jeans currently mock everything the baby boomers used to mock.

When I first realized that people wore skinny-jeans on purpose (and not because they were a “good deal" at the thrift store) I really hoped those consumers would quickly change their minds.

I anxiously anticipated the end of the trend. But it only grew from the EMO kids to the rest of the pubescent population.

And I hoped and hoped it would pass. So it passed from boys to girls, back to boys. I think now they just buy unisex-pants because skinny-jeans don’t really fit anyone properly.

I still spent time hoping the skinny-jeans trend would move on. Instead it moved on from teenagers to college students. I see skinny jeans on my college campus and want to scream, “There’s a better way! There’s a better way!”

I await the day it’s all over. But I fear that it will move on—gulp—to the elderly. Instead of high school students in skinny jeans, you’ll see your grandmothers and grandfathers. Grandma will wear gold ballet flats with her skinny-jeans. Grandpa will wear purple skinny-jeans and carry a longboard. And I will cry.

It’s escalating too, you know. Go Google “jeggings;” I dare you. And those girls who think wearing leggings and a mini-skirt to church counts…think again…leggings are just pants and you look ridiculous. (Unless you’re under three years old…then it’s cute.)

I think skinny-jeans are an epidemic.
Epidemic as in DISEASE.

I dream at night about the day bootcut-jeans come back and get in a playground-style fight with skinny-jeans. You’ll get a note in class that says, “Meet at the flagpole after school so you can see Bootcut kick skinny-jeans’ butt.”

Deep breath. Writing this causes me anxiety.

Past trends say that skinny-jeans and jeggings will pass on the same way oversized sweaters, overalls, and parting your hair in the center all did. I’m sure research would reassure me saying that, in a matter of years there will be a whole new style. Afterall, even Doc Martens and scrunchies are things of the past. Surely skinny-jeans will pass on too.
So why this rant and rave?

Another deep breath, please. And now the story.

I’ve never had much desire to be in style. I’ve never tried real hard to fit in. I could never work a messy-bun the way my friends could in high school, I never owned a body-suit, and my Hammer-pants only lived until I was eight. But Saturday I decided to try this whole “fitting in” thing.

Don’t judge me until you’ve heard the whole story. I swear, honest-to-goodness, it started out as an accident.

I wanted some new jeans…I was on a mission for the perfect pair. I was at the store, gathering a variety of pants-options to try. (I even ignored price tags because this was a SERIOUS mission.) The first endeavor started with five pairs of jeans. I didn’t realize what they were when I took them into the fitting room. First pair was too short. Second pair was too old-lady-ish. Third pair was the wrong size. Fourth pair was the abomination…the skinny-jeans.

But they were there…
And they were my size…
And I’d already struck-out three times…

So I did the unthinkable.

I tried on a pair of skinny-jeans. I put them on one leg at a time, just like all the other skinny-jeans-wearers. I pulled them up to where they went…about 16 inches below my waist…and I buttoned them.

And then I screamed… “Get them off! Get them off! What have I done! Noooooooooooo!”

Just like every sin, getting in was easy. It was getting out that was the problem.
I unbuttoned. I tugged. I pulled. I wiggled.

Skinny-jeans—I’m convinced—have a horrible power that molds them right to your calves with suction a vacuum would envy. As anyone in my situation would do, I panicked. “Get them off! Get them off! What have I done! Noooooooooooo!”

After more tugging, pulling, wiggling, stomping, grunting, panicking, etc…I finally triumphed. I stood there, wiping the sweat off my forehead, staring at the skinny pile of jeans, horrified that I had ever thought to try them on. With much hesitation I picked them up by a belt-loop to examine the tag. They WERE my size. They were. They mocked me saying, “What did you expect, dummy? We’re not called ‘comfortable jeans.’ ”

And for the record…my calves are not abnormally fat. My calves are just averagely fat. Probably like yours are.

I stood still, trying to recover and I thought back to the day I wish I had more choker-necklaces, a pair of clogs, or another slap-bracelet. I decided then and there—in the dressing room—that some things were iconic for a reason (slap-bracelets) and some things are an abomination now and forever (skinny-jeans).

I speak to you, my adoring fans. Don’t get sucked in. Because literally, skinny-jeans will suck you in. The boys of my junior-high may have overcompensated with their sag-tastic jeans. But I’m telling you…they were closer to the right thing than the skinny-jean-ed kids of today will ever be.

Poodle skirts were cute. Leather vests with fringe were trendy. Ironing your hair was worth the sacrifice. Skinny jeans will steal your soul.

Remember this lesson. Forever. I don’t want you to have to go through what I went through.

“Get them off! Get them off! What have I done! Noooooooooooo!”