I hate shopping for clothes – mostly I hate shopping for jeans. Why?
- Most stores don’t carry my size.
- Rarely do they fit in all the necessary places.
- The latest fad is always horrid (pre-torn, pre-stained).
- The price is outrageous.
- 1% lycra fabric begins as butt-clinging and ends as butt-sagging immediately after sitting down.
I didn’t own a pair of jeans for most of my elementary and tween years. In fact, I can’t remember having any jeans before the age of 13. The first pair were white and I needed them for marching band. Yes…. white jeans… for walking along the hot or drenched spring streets of the Rhododendron and Armed Force Day parades. However, their first parade was along the hallways of Jr. High. When I reached the doors of the band room a friend exclaimed “Kymberly – you wore jeans!” I both beamed and shrugged it off.
Those and subsequent pairs were from Lane Bryant – the fat girl, old lady store. I still shop there with moderate success and even bought a pair of skinny jeans this spring. But at 15 I didn’t need to shop there, it was simply my mom’s choice. I think she had a hard time with jeans beginning in her tween years, and assumed it would be the same for me (she claims it was merely the truth).
I did, however, feel some loyalty to Ms. Bryant those first couple years as I was thankful these jeans had brought me out of the dark days of stretch pants above socks and Birkenstocks. However, eventually the novelty wore off and I no longer wanted to buy a Venezia sweatshirt to proclaim my gratefulness.
The day I bought my Levis was one of liberation. I spent that Saturday morning as a typically bored teenage girl would – with my newly installed landline phone attached to my ear. Michelle and I spoke for awhile and as I complained about having no good jeans she mentioned she was going to the big mall with her mom and I could come along. I went downstairs to ask if I could go shopping and to announce my jean-buying intentions. My mom was fine that I go, but I believe a bit worried I’d return empty handed.
When we got to JCPenny I assumed none of the young women’s jeans would fit and so proceeded to the men’s section on the upper floor. The perplexing sizes of such as 42×38 resulted in guess-work and multiple escalator rides between the stacks and the ladies dressing room downstairs. Each fitting directed me to the ultimate conclusion that men just don’t have butts.
Michelle’s patience had waned and she blurted, “why don’t you just try on girl’s jeans?” My gut twisted a little, but I complied.
With trepidation I walked toward a long wall of perfectly folded jeans and looked toward the ground at the very bottom pair – size 15. This was it, they either fit or I was back to the men’s section. Who would have known….
A few days later I overheard my mom speaking to someone on the phone (probably my grandma) that I had found a pair of jeans that fit as if they were custom made for me. The tone of her voice proclaimed her elation.
Eventually I outgrew those size 15’s and found Old Navy. I later had a decent stint of $70 Gap Long and Lean days, but their cut changed and then the name and so it was back to Old Navy and Lane Bryant.
My jeans always wear-out in the crotch from thunder-thigh rubbing, and the 1% lycra speeds up the process. Over a month ago two pairs wore out the same week – their lives shortened due to the spandex, thighs, and cycling.
I wear jeans to work every. single. day. so I’ve been concerned that my one remaining pair will suddenly give-out. However, my dislike of jean shopping means that I hadn’t tried on a single pair all this while, until today.
My boyfriend called tonight to ask that I meet him in the city for jean shopping. The first store didn’t carry my size. The second store was closed. Old feelings of fatness, nervousness, and disappointment loomed. Not only that, I was shopping with my boyfriend – the 30 year old guy who until a month ago never realised that most women’s legs rub together. Add embarrassment to the looming list.
The third store had my size, but I initially didn’t know which one (apparently the UK sizes clothes two numbers up from the US, *grumble), and so I turned my boyfriend into a sherpa. I piled a dozen pairs into his arms then left him outside the dressing room while I squeezed into and gave up on most of the lot. Eventually I found two pairs of different colours in the same style. They were definitely not made for me and contain an ample dose of lycra, but they’ll do. They were a bargain and my boyfriend bought them for me, which caused my heart to melt a little. I wonder, and hope, if this touch of romance will change my mind about jean shopping.
