I'm a creature of habit. I wear just about the same thing every day, with slight variations. My winter uniform consists of jeans, t-shirts and turtlenecks. With coat/scarf/hat change ups (trust me, I have countless of each), no one realizes the basics stay relatively the same.
This winter I finally accepted that I'm never going to be crazy thin again, that holding on to my skinny pants was nothing but old-school anorexic behavior. I'd pull on pants that wouldn't make it past my thighs, berating myself for having lost so much control. Truth is, I never should have been that thin. Yes, my pants were loose and comfortable, my ribs stuck out more, I easily wore small shirts but that's not everything. I wasn't healthy. In fact, I was sick far more often than I am now. This is the first winter I've gone through in good shape, able to fight things off or recover well when a cold knocked me flat. So, I packed up 2 drawers of pants, donated them so a thinner person could be better dressed and have spent the past couple of months in the same 2 pairs of jeans and one pair of corduroys (washing them regularly of course).
This can't last forever. Eventually my pants will fall apart and I'll be left with nothing. Of course, it'll be spring, when my uniform switches to 1960s mod dresses and the jeans conundrum could wait for fall, but I decided to suck it up, not to mention in, and buy new pants.
Shopping for pants is a loaded minefield for me. Just confronting the size on the label is toxic. I used to bring in 2 sizes, so I could revel in my greatness when the smaller slipped on easily, or beat myself up when the larger size was better. This time I just opted for larger, praying they'd be ok. It was literally nerve-wracking, walking to the fitting room, terrified my go-to larger size wouldn't work for me anymore. I was at Old Navy, willing to fork over $19 for a pair of jeans—in retrospect I'm thinking spending more money would have confirmed my failure with my weight battle. Somehow not spending as much lessened the defeat.
They now name their jeans: diva, flirt, and sweetheart. Those names are code for skinny girl, barely holding on, and fat slob. I tried each, not sure where I'd fit in anymore. Just to date myself, last time I was in this situation, ultra low rise were all fashion. They don't have those anymore.
So. Diva first. It was almost like reliving the smaller size nightmare. Apparently, low rise doesn't work for me anymore. Flirts were ok. Sweethearts most comfortable.
Fuck (and I don't say that often here).
When did I graduate to old lady pants? Was polyester in my near future? Was I becoming an embarrassment to myself, trying to hold onto a look that didn't work anymore. What could I possibly wear instead? OH MY GOD! It was a total jean meltdown. I pulled the old "concentrate on your breathing" trick out of my bag and bought 3 pairs.
Yesterday I wore the sweathearts and even though they were fine, totally fine, perfectly fine, a pair of plain jeans for god's sake, I felt awful all day. Self-conscious. Uncomfortable. Middle-aged. I ended the day super cranky, wrapped up in anger, sniping at people in real life and in my head, who didn't deserve it.
Today I tried the flirts. The're better, intellectually. But physically? Tight-ish. Not lounge on the floor comfortable. Then again, not constricting blood flow.
I'm hoping, with multiple washings and some holes torn in the knees, these new pants will become comfortable old friends.
And that it'll be years before I have to go through my jeans drama again.