Triggered by Jeggings
I was out clothes shopping the other day when I had an experience and reaction that surprised me.
I was in a store looking for an item that I had tried on at another location but just needed a different color. It was a high-waisted jegging that fit me like a glove and finally didn't make my calves hulk out or roll down my stomach because the rise was too low. The pair was sized like regular jeans: zipper, button, and all. Finally, an acceptable pair outside of yoga pants I could wear!
Normally I don't venture into trendy shops or stores that skew younger, but this one makes jeans just how I like and need 'em. As it was, I was already a little self conscious walking in there sans makeup, in a baseball hat and older than most of the shoppers and retail employees there. Le sigh.
I found what I was looking for but not before an employee found me. I was asking to check out but fell prey to the "buy one get one 50% off" tactic. I figured I'd go for it, since I knew this style of jean would probably get some good mileage. Why not get another pair?
The clerk let me go back to meandering the store, lingering over the same sections...I wanted another high-waisted pair, but was looking for a different style. I must have been taking a long time when I heard a phantom voice behind me ask loudly, "And what size are we looking for today?" I didn't want to turn around. I felt my cheeks get hot. I felt my shoulders rise and scrunch up realizing I'd have to say my size aloud. "Size 10, regular," I mumbled. God, why was that so hard? Why did it suddenly feel like I was on stage about to give a presentation about my pants?
Now, it shouldn't matter what size I was looking for but I felt embarrassed. I felt both large and small at the same time. When the largest size in the store is 14 and I'm in the double digit territory, I get really aware of how close I am to being generalized as a "bigger woman" and I hate it. If I was still a size 8 I would have had no problem saying my size out loud. 8 is great! This bothers me. That, and the extra 15 pounds that requires a little more room in the waist... but that's a different story.
The clerk didn't stop there though. "Are we ONLY looking at high waisted?" I felt like he being was ridiculously loud for 11 am. I somehow felt like it was a dig at me...I know middle aged women your age need higher waisted pants to keep all that muffin top at bay! That's what I heard in my mind. I didn't even want to make eye contact as I said yes. I literally wanted to disappear into the jean wall like Homer Simpson into a hedge.
There is literally nothing wrong with preferring or liking or needing high waisted pants. The sane part of my brain knows this. In a day and age where stores are purposely carrying lines of actual "mom jeans" I need to relax.
I emerged unscathed with my two pairs of jeggings, but my dignity was not so much in tact. I have some work to do to figure out why I had such a guttural reaction. I couldn't get out of that store fast enough.
I was in a store looking for an item that I had tried on at another location but just needed a different color. It was a high-waisted jegging that fit me like a glove and finally didn't make my calves hulk out or roll down my stomach because the rise was too low. The pair was sized like regular jeans: zipper, button, and all. Finally, an acceptable pair outside of yoga pants I could wear!
Normally I don't venture into trendy shops or stores that skew younger, but this one makes jeans just how I like and need 'em. As it was, I was already a little self conscious walking in there sans makeup, in a baseball hat and older than most of the shoppers and retail employees there. Le sigh.
I found what I was looking for but not before an employee found me. I was asking to check out but fell prey to the "buy one get one 50% off" tactic. I figured I'd go for it, since I knew this style of jean would probably get some good mileage. Why not get another pair?
The clerk let me go back to meandering the store, lingering over the same sections...I wanted another high-waisted pair, but was looking for a different style. I must have been taking a long time when I heard a phantom voice behind me ask loudly, "And what size are we looking for today?" I didn't want to turn around. I felt my cheeks get hot. I felt my shoulders rise and scrunch up realizing I'd have to say my size aloud. "Size 10, regular," I mumbled. God, why was that so hard? Why did it suddenly feel like I was on stage about to give a presentation about my pants?
Now, it shouldn't matter what size I was looking for but I felt embarrassed. I felt both large and small at the same time. When the largest size in the store is 14 and I'm in the double digit territory, I get really aware of how close I am to being generalized as a "bigger woman" and I hate it. If I was still a size 8 I would have had no problem saying my size out loud. 8 is great! This bothers me. That, and the extra 15 pounds that requires a little more room in the waist... but that's a different story.
The clerk didn't stop there though. "Are we ONLY looking at high waisted?" I felt like he being was ridiculously loud for 11 am. I somehow felt like it was a dig at me...I know middle aged women your age need higher waisted pants to keep all that muffin top at bay! That's what I heard in my mind. I didn't even want to make eye contact as I said yes. I literally wanted to disappear into the jean wall like Homer Simpson into a hedge.
There is literally nothing wrong with preferring or liking or needing high waisted pants. The sane part of my brain knows this. In a day and age where stores are purposely carrying lines of actual "mom jeans" I need to relax.
I emerged unscathed with my two pairs of jeggings, but my dignity was not so much in tact. I have some work to do to figure out why I had such a guttural reaction. I couldn't get out of that store fast enough.
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