On a whim today at Target (where I ran in to get “a few things” and left with a $150 dent in my wallet) I grabbed a pair of grey skinny jeans. You may not know this about me, but I’ve been making fun of skinny jeans for over a year. The name seems stupid to me, and concept seemed obviously designed to make me feel fat, and probably look fat. There’s no sense stuffing a sausage into a too-tight casing, and that’s what I figured skinny jeans would be like. I’m not a huge girl, but my kitchen, witness to my 2am eating binges, and my doctor, can attest that my 5’2″ body should be wearing a size 6 or 8 instead of the size 12 I sport today. Which I am mostly OK with, honestly. I could stand to lose a little weight, but I don’t quite feel as “obese” as the oh-so-accurate (not!) BMI would indicate.
I grabbed that pair of skinny jeans, didn’t try them on, and checked out. They were super soft, and I loved the color, but I figured I’d be back at Target tomorrow to return them. Lo and behold, I got home, hopped into the bathroom, tried them on, and nearly crapped myself. I looked good. Surprisingly good. They were comfortable, way more comfortable than any other pair of jeans I own. In fact, I am known for changing into my PJs as soon as I walk into my front door, but I have been wearing these suckers all night and they almost feel like wearing super comfy leggings or sweatpants. (Sidenote: No matter my feelings on skinny jeans now, I will never forgive the world for jeggings.)
I feel sexy. I feel cute. I feel stylish. I feel skinny.