I have a confession to make: I don’t own a single pair of jeans. Everything else, pants-wise, is in the arsenal I call my wardrobe. Leggings, spandex, tights – you name it. The pair of black slacks I wear any time I need to suit up feel like yoga pants. My favorite pair of jeggings just ripped, and I’m pretty upset about it.
I wish I could say it was because I just think non-jeans are so comfy – which they are. But if I sit down and I’m really honest with myself, buying jeans fills me with dread. I’ve tried to go jeans shopping several times this year. I mean, I have fashion aspirations! I want a pair of white denim jeans. I want to wear a plain white t-shirt with some rolled up boyfriend jeans. But the ugly truth is: I’ve always been happy being small. I’m not as small as I used to be. And I hate it. I’m probably a whopping ten pounds heavier than I was in middle school. I know most people can’t even tell, but I can, and so can the denim world. I universally wore a size zero up until my junior year when I started including *gasp* size 1/2 (not to be confused with ½ that lies between 0 and 1) jeans in my collection. It didn’t really bother me much until my sister (who is four years younger than me) inherited my size 0 jeans, which I was no longer able to wedge my thicker thighs into.
After I was home from college for the first time, I got the obligatory “Oh, they’ve been feeding you well out there!” and “Freshman fifteen, huh?” comments from people. I don’t think they meant it maliciously, but I didn’t realize the underlying hint of truth until I tried to put on old shorts and jeans. I turned to pants to cope. I’m a small in all of them, and it’s glorious. They fit around my thighs, my wide hips, and they’re so easy to wear. I can dress them up or down or layer them if need be, and they’re perfect for winter.
Shopping for jeans is always depressing. I start off open-minded: I know about vanity sizing. I know about the variation of jean sizes among manufacturers. I know it’s much better for me to find a pair of jeans that fit me perfectly than it does to please my ego. But as the 5, 6, 7, 8, refuse to fit, I start to get a little deflated. How far up will I have to go to find the perfect pair? As I was trying on jeans once, I had a realization: when I finally hit a number that comfortably fits my thighs and hips, it’s too loose in the waist. I started to wonder, “Is ten pounds really the difference between ten clothing sizes?” Do I really need to spend $200 on a pair of jeans to find the perfect pair? It’s more than just not being as small as I used to be. It’s about feeling like an outsider at all the retailers and shops I used to love.
Being petite and curvy has been difficult for me. It’s hard to appreciate both aspects of yourself at the same time in a fashion world that doesn’t really seem to cater to either. I could just try to lose ten pounds, but the problem is that I don’t necessarily want to. I feel good. I feel fine. A little insecure here and there, but I’m generally happy with who I am and my body. I feel terrible as soon as I start the process of trying to find jeans.
The conclusion I’ve come to is: it doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t matter! I’ve heard it for so long but never understood – until it affected me – that clothing sizes are not tied to my self-worth. Look how arbitrary they are!! I won’t give up on my jeans search, though. I mean, jeggings don’t last forever. But for this next year, I resolve to take it as it means; this pair of jeans doesn’t fit. That’s it! On to the next one. And if not….well, leggings are cheaper. And you can sleep in them.