Today, as I’m wont to do in the colder months, I wore leggings as pants. Now, before you stone me to death or unfollow me on Twitter, I’d like to add that I wore them with an appropriately-lengthed shirt (that is a thing I just made up) and the consistency of said leggings was thick enough to hide cellulite, unshaved leg hairs, and every other aesthetic atrocity that pretty much every human being has beneath his or her clothing. In other words, I wore leggings as pants and no one died.
That said, there are occasions when I don’t go through the necessary checklist of legging-acceptable circumstances before leaving the house. (Does the shirt cover four inches of crotch/thigh area, AT LEAST? Are the leggings somehow embellished to make them more “pant-like”? Is my hair in a messy bun to indicate that I’m hungover and can’t be expected to wear real people outfits?) I don’t go through the checklist every time because I’m unsure of what transforms leggings from cloth material meant to be worn on the lower half of the body into a nuclear attack on the eyes. The only reason I typically don’t wear leggings as full-on pants is because I don’t have the abs, ass, or “upa” (that’s upper-pussy-area) for it, not because I think there’s something inherently wrong with wearing something comfortable the way it was intended to be worn. I mean, I’m only guessing that leggings are meant to be worn in the style of pants, based on the leg-shaped cut-out holes where your legs go. But perhaps that’s a hasty assumption, a misstep made by a fool who missed the memo that we should relentlessly judge the shit out of anyone who leaves their home in spandex.
I don’t mean to defend leggings so hard; they seem to be doing just fine without my help. I mean to pose a question — why do we want people to feel bad about what they’re wearing? And why does it work? Because when I need to run to the drug store and I pull on some leggings and a sweatshirt, the first thought that springs to my mind is, “Some bitch is probably gonna tweet about me and my legging-pants and get like, four favorites.” For real. I actually think that. And I think that because “DON’T WEAR LEGGINGS” is a thing that people actually say to other people.
There are several occasions on which I would prefer leggings to a more restrictive pair of pants. When I have my period. When I’ve just been broken up with but know that baggy sweatpants will only make me feel worse (/fatter). When I’m depressed (seriously). When I haven’t done laundry in a while or when I’ve just done the laundry and all of my other pants are too tight. When I’m going to/coming from the gym. (OK, I don’t do that ever, but other people do.) You think my menstruating, broken-hearted, depressed ass needs your judgment? You think NOW is the time to superficially judge me?
Because what I think is, if someone is wearing an outfit — wait. I don’t think anything because other people’s outfits do not affect my quality of life. I have four fixed reactions to what someone else is wearing:
- “Cute, want that.”
- “Wish I could wear that.”
- “Good for her/him.”
- “That looks uncomfortable.”
It’s one of those four reactions, or else I didn’t notice. I am never like, “Woah. That person looks too comfortable. What’s her problem?” I think it’s cool when people are comfortable, and that includes people who are wearing things society at large tells them not to wear. I like a side-boob moment (even though I don’t know how to have one myself). I like short-shorts. I like a bunch of clashing, disco-patterns and textures. I like tights with holes in them. I like a confident camel-toe. I don’t wear these things, because body issues, but I dig people who are comfortable with whatever they’re wearing. Even if “whatever they’re wearing” is leggings and I can kind of see their ass cheeks.
I can’t speak for all legging-enthusiasts, but if I’m wearing leggings it’s because I’m trying to comfort myself in some small way. And while your outfit might not affect my quality of life, your judgment and insensitivity to my legging-moment pretty much exists *just* to harsh my mellow. Either chill out with slamming the leggings, or meet me outside — I’ve got nothing to lose but a few pounds and these flexible pants make it that much easier to kick your ass.