Saturday, April 8, 2006
I need jeans. Badly. I'm down to a single pair of jeans that has the distinction of being fully intact, long enough, and not completely unflattering. Considering I basically live in jeans these days, even during the week, this is obviously a problem. Like most girls, though, I truly hate jeans-shopping. Ordinarily, I enjoy shopping, but jeans and swimsuits are a special category.
For the guys or girls with perfect figures out there, picture this: you go to the mall, hoping against hope that the same style you bought and liked six months or a year ago still exists at that little store you got it from. Of course it has been discontinued, because it's "last season's" style. Honestly, people, they're jeans! Disgruntled, you move on to the big department store. Once there, you find yourself grabbing at least four different "fits" from each designer. Almost an hour after arriving at the store, you get into the dressing room, your arms and back aching from carrying a hundred pounds of denim around the store. Here you may have to argue with the salesperson because there's a rule that you can't bring more than 6 items into the dressing room at once. You proceed to try on pair after pair, becoming more and more horrified with each one. There's the pair that has pockets in the back so big that they go halfway down the back of your thigh. There's the low-rise pair that you were initially excited about, but once you have them on you find yourself wondering if you have any underwear at all that wouldn't show above the waistline, and you're pretty sure you would never be able to sit down in them in public. There's the other "low-rise" pair from a different designer that has a waistband that not only covers your belly button but is also so narrowed that it feels like you're being cut in half. There's the pair made for someone with the figure of a 12-year-old that has no room for things like hips. There's the pair from Designer A that's two sizes smaller than you normally wear and is still baggy but has short legs, and the pair from Designer B that's two sizes larger than you normally wear and still doesn't come close to zipping. After an hour or so of that, you sigh heavily and walk out of the store emptyhanded.
You then proceed to repeat this process in all of the smaller stores in the mall that have any chance of carrying jeans. Eventually, after a good five or six hours, the lucky ones will have a short list of maybe two pairs that you consider wearable, in shops on opposite ends of the mall. Your walk has become a trudge, and you feel like your head is going to fly spinning off your neck if you see one more square inch of denim. Discouraged, feeling ugly, and just wanting it to be over, you walk the length of the mall one more time, buying both pairs of jeans and promising yourself you'll make a decision between the two in the morning. Of course, in the morning, you try them both on and realize they're hideously unflattering, so you have to return them to the mall, find another mall with additional options, and repeat the experience all over again.
My original plan for today was to start this jeans-shopping odyssey. I didn't end up being able to talk myself into it, though, so instead I have stayed mostly at home, reading and watching the spring rain outside my windows. On the up-side, I guess I'll be well-rested for a long day of shopping tomorrow.