Questions about my pants

I spend a lot of time avoiding buying pants, so when it comes time to finally get myself a new pair, I am overwhelmed by questions. Shimmy through the bead-curtain of my life and come with me on this journey of discovery.

1. Do I have to try on these pants?  

Dressing rooms are portals to hell. They're designed to either lull us into a false sense of security by making us look like upgraded versions of ourselves, or to make us feel completely awful so that we buy pants in an effort to quell the sinking feeling that we have absolutely no idea what we actually look like. Who is this tiny woman without a chin? Where did her chin go between panels two and four of this multi-angled mirror? Hello? Salesperson?

2. Do the sizes vary from store to store to keep me in a constant state of unease?

In the early 20th century, society realized it owed women the option of pants, and we found each one of our legs snugly housed in its own independent fabric tube. Is that when we collectively agreed that these leg tubes (a great & fun name for pants, I think!) would be used as a further means to control our perception of self-worth by changing basic sizing from store to store so you never really get a good perception of what size you are? If sizing is basic math, why don't we adhere to simple mathematics when creating pant sizes so that I can order ALL my pants online and never set foot in a dressing room again??

3. Am I being gaslit by my pants?

Honestly. I've done enough bad-boyfriend-behaviour Google searches to spot some shady gaslighting techniques when I see them. My jeans are shrinking in the dryer and then acting like they always fit me perfectly two days later. Denim is both emotionally and physically abusive.

4. How long until the fabric between my thighs just rubs away?

Really though... I should get two pairs of these if I like them.

5. Who buys low-rise anything?

My body will turn almost any pant into low-rise fashion all on its own. The early aughts were an interesting era for my buttcrack.

6. What is a jegging?

These look like jeans to me. And to be honest, they fit the amorphous landscape of my body more easily than a pair of button-fly anything. I'm going to call these stretchy-pants "my jeans". I'll likely wear these to formal events. You'll find me at the cheese table wearing large, dark sunglasses while filling up a tupperware container in my purse and remarking too loudly how "wow, so fancy!!" everyone looks.   

7. What do you mean I can't wear tights as pants?

Don't even start with that internalized misogyny. These tights are cute and so are my Uggs. I'll take 15 pairs of these tights to go, please. No, I don't need to try them on.

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