I have a habit that needs breaking. It seems I have become accustomed to wearing pants with an elastic waist.
It started when I was about 4.5 months pregnant and none of my pants were fitting. I felt fat, but wasn't obviously pregnant yet. I also wasn't ready to succomb to the maternity pants with the pelvis-to-chest panel. That's when I went to Old Navy and discovered maternity jeans that were tight-legged and had a very small elastic band around the waist. They looked like real jeans. They were cute. They fit snuggly, but not too snuggly, and were low-rise. They had a convincing fly zone that was zipper and button-free. I was in love. No more discomfort and no time-consuming zipping/buttoning process. I could just pull them on and off. Life as a pregnant girl was good again.
I wore these jeans for most of my pregnancy, although my huge growing belly made it more difficult to keep the pants up, so I had to make sure my shirts were extra long to hide my plumber's crack which was almost permanently on display.
After Killian was born, I was not one of those lucky bitches who are able to fit back into their pre-pregnancy clothes right away. Biotches. So I was restricted to 2 pairs of black sweatpants (with holes in the crotch, I might add), 2 pairs of Old Navy maternity corduroys (which were baggy, but they had been on clearance and didn't come in my size, so I went for the available bigger size), and my magic jeans. You're probably wondering why I didn't just go out and buy pants that would fit me. There are 3 great reasons:
1) We were incredibly broke right after Killian was born. We hadn't saved as much as we should have, and I was out of work for almost 2 months (unpaid). So buying pants was not an option.
2) When it sort of became an option (meaning that I could buy pants if I could find a pair for $5) I was unwilling to buy pants in a larger size. It was just too depressing. I felt fat, I knew I looked fat, and I didn't need to experience the agony of figuring out just how fat I had gotten with the help of a numeric sizing tag. Elastic was my best friend.
3) Those black crotchless sweatpants were impossible to replace.
The holes in both pairs were so intense that it became very challenging to hide the fact that they were indeed crotchless. I had to be very aware of how I sat, I couldn't spread my legs too wide in any standing positions, and I even had to walk differently to avoid giving a peep show.
Walmart had always carried several options of ladies sweatpants; such as with or without a drawstring, with or without pockets, and with or without the elastic bunching around the ankles. (My preference happens to be the ones with the drawstring and the elastic ankle bunching, because they're the only kind of pants that aren't too long for me.)
I visited the popular Slob department of Walmart, which consists of countless varieties of super extra "casual" (sloppy) clothes- including but not limited to: jogging suits, sweatpants, sweatshirts, yoga tops and bottoms, running shorts, sports bras and tanks, and the always classy (and more upscale) velour tracksuits. I'm not completely busting on velour tracksuits- so don't be offended (I know you have one hanging in your closet right now, waiting to be worn tomorrow) I wish I could have afforded to look that good. But I knew I had to stick with the simplistic, shapeless Hanes style. You can imagine how upset I became when I learned that they didn't have any pairs in black. I was set on black because...well, it went with everything in my limited wardrobe at that time. They had lavendar, heather gray, mauve, light blue, even peach. I may have settled with navy blue, but they didn't even have that. If I had gone with any of these colors, my worst nightmare would have come true- people would realize that I was wearing sweatpants. See, the black ones give the illusion (in my head) that I'm simply wearing pants. Peoples' eyes would be more drawn to my colorful shirt. Besides that, black is slimming- even baggy black. Black is basically invisible. Off the radar. You can't pull that crap off with heather gray. People would see them and know immediately that I was wearing sweatpants. The shirt wouldn't even matter at that point, no matter what color. People would be too busy judging me for my audacity to slum so low in my appearance in public.
Then I tried Target. They were no better than Walmart. Both stores had black exercise pants, which were far nicer looking than the Hanes. In fact, they were the business suit pants of the sweatpant world. But that stature brings a price tag of about $16, which was way more than my budget would allow. It was a very annoying thing. Both stores' mens and boys departments carried Hanes in black and navy blue, but none of them would have fit me well enough.
I never did replace those sweatpants, nor have I discarded them to this day.
I did, however, manage to lose some of the weight, and the maternity pants started to look as ridiculous as I felt wearing them 6 months postpardum. We came into some money (thanks to taxes) and I was allowed to buy a pair of black exercise pants ($15) and a pair of Old Navy jeans ($30: I don't think I have ever spent that much on a pair of pants in my life!).
That brings us to the present.
I should be delighted that I can now walk around with my dignity a few times a week (even if I am wearing the same pair of jeans- hey, I could only afford one pair!) Instead, I feel inconvenienced. So many months of easily pulling my pants on and off formed a habit very much like crack. Every time I go to use the bathroom (which most of you know is VERY often) I automatically try to drop my pants in 1 second flat. But now there's a belt in my way. And a button. And a zipper. Followed by an audible annoyed sigh from my mouth. And when it's time to pull them up- again with the zipper, the button, and the belt. Sometimes I force the jeans down over my child-bearing hips, but the waistband is just not forgiving or versatile like elastic- and this practice has resulted in stretched-out jeans and the need for a tighter belt. I long for the ease of elastic and drawstrings. Eff fashion.
I can't wait to be pregnant again, solely for the excuse of wearing maternity pants.
It started when I was about 4.5 months pregnant and none of my pants were fitting. I felt fat, but wasn't obviously pregnant yet. I also wasn't ready to succomb to the maternity pants with the pelvis-to-chest panel. That's when I went to Old Navy and discovered maternity jeans that were tight-legged and had a very small elastic band around the waist. They looked like real jeans. They were cute. They fit snuggly, but not too snuggly, and were low-rise. They had a convincing fly zone that was zipper and button-free. I was in love. No more discomfort and no time-consuming zipping/buttoning process. I could just pull them on and off. Life as a pregnant girl was good again.
I wore these jeans for most of my pregnancy, although my huge growing belly made it more difficult to keep the pants up, so I had to make sure my shirts were extra long to hide my plumber's crack which was almost permanently on display.
After Killian was born, I was not one of those lucky bitches who are able to fit back into their pre-pregnancy clothes right away. Biotches. So I was restricted to 2 pairs of black sweatpants (with holes in the crotch, I might add), 2 pairs of Old Navy maternity corduroys (which were baggy, but they had been on clearance and didn't come in my size, so I went for the available bigger size), and my magic jeans. You're probably wondering why I didn't just go out and buy pants that would fit me. There are 3 great reasons:
1) We were incredibly broke right after Killian was born. We hadn't saved as much as we should have, and I was out of work for almost 2 months (unpaid). So buying pants was not an option.
2) When it sort of became an option (meaning that I could buy pants if I could find a pair for $5) I was unwilling to buy pants in a larger size. It was just too depressing. I felt fat, I knew I looked fat, and I didn't need to experience the agony of figuring out just how fat I had gotten with the help of a numeric sizing tag. Elastic was my best friend.
3) Those black crotchless sweatpants were impossible to replace.
The holes in both pairs were so intense that it became very challenging to hide the fact that they were indeed crotchless. I had to be very aware of how I sat, I couldn't spread my legs too wide in any standing positions, and I even had to walk differently to avoid giving a peep show.
Walmart had always carried several options of ladies sweatpants; such as with or without a drawstring, with or without pockets, and with or without the elastic bunching around the ankles. (My preference happens to be the ones with the drawstring and the elastic ankle bunching, because they're the only kind of pants that aren't too long for me.)
I visited the popular Slob department of Walmart, which consists of countless varieties of super extra "casual" (sloppy) clothes- including but not limited to: jogging suits, sweatpants, sweatshirts, yoga tops and bottoms, running shorts, sports bras and tanks, and the always classy (and more upscale) velour tracksuits. I'm not completely busting on velour tracksuits- so don't be offended (I know you have one hanging in your closet right now, waiting to be worn tomorrow) I wish I could have afforded to look that good. But I knew I had to stick with the simplistic, shapeless Hanes style. You can imagine how upset I became when I learned that they didn't have any pairs in black. I was set on black because...well, it went with everything in my limited wardrobe at that time. They had lavendar, heather gray, mauve, light blue, even peach. I may have settled with navy blue, but they didn't even have that. If I had gone with any of these colors, my worst nightmare would have come true- people would realize that I was wearing sweatpants. See, the black ones give the illusion (in my head) that I'm simply wearing pants. Peoples' eyes would be more drawn to my colorful shirt. Besides that, black is slimming- even baggy black. Black is basically invisible. Off the radar. You can't pull that crap off with heather gray. People would see them and know immediately that I was wearing sweatpants. The shirt wouldn't even matter at that point, no matter what color. People would be too busy judging me for my audacity to slum so low in my appearance in public.
Then I tried Target. They were no better than Walmart. Both stores had black exercise pants, which were far nicer looking than the Hanes. In fact, they were the business suit pants of the sweatpant world. But that stature brings a price tag of about $16, which was way more than my budget would allow. It was a very annoying thing. Both stores' mens and boys departments carried Hanes in black and navy blue, but none of them would have fit me well enough.
I never did replace those sweatpants, nor have I discarded them to this day.
I did, however, manage to lose some of the weight, and the maternity pants started to look as ridiculous as I felt wearing them 6 months postpardum. We came into some money (thanks to taxes) and I was allowed to buy a pair of black exercise pants ($15) and a pair of Old Navy jeans ($30: I don't think I have ever spent that much on a pair of pants in my life!).
That brings us to the present.
I should be delighted that I can now walk around with my dignity a few times a week (even if I am wearing the same pair of jeans- hey, I could only afford one pair!) Instead, I feel inconvenienced. So many months of easily pulling my pants on and off formed a habit very much like crack. Every time I go to use the bathroom (which most of you know is VERY often) I automatically try to drop my pants in 1 second flat. But now there's a belt in my way. And a button. And a zipper. Followed by an audible annoyed sigh from my mouth. And when it's time to pull them up- again with the zipper, the button, and the belt. Sometimes I force the jeans down over my child-bearing hips, but the waistband is just not forgiving or versatile like elastic- and this practice has resulted in stretched-out jeans and the need for a tighter belt. I long for the ease of elastic and drawstrings. Eff fashion.
I can't wait to be pregnant again, solely for the excuse of wearing maternity pants.
