Once upon a time, I could walk into The Gap, pull a pair of jeans off the shelf, and walk out without having to try them on (uh, after paying for them, that is).
Then, one day, they stopped making relax fit, or classically relaxed, or whatever it was. The only things on the shelves were these ultra-straight jeans (this was before the low-rise craze). Apparently, the fine people in The Gap marketing department believed women were built like planks of plywood.
At this point, I discovered Eddie Bauer had jeans that fit me. They also had flat front khakis that I could pull off the rack and not have to try on (well, more than once, of course). At the time, I worked at a place where business causal did not equal jeans. (In fact, you got “talked to” if you wore jeans to work.)
Then, I walked into Eddie Bauer one day and discovered they totally redid their jeans/pants line into one that included five different styles. A style to fit every woman, the advertisement proclaimed, with much fanfare and self congratulation.
Every woman, that was, except me. I tried every single style. They fit poorly and felt crappy. Jeans have to look good, but they really should feel good. That’s the whole point.
J. Jill to the rescue. Their “tried and true” fit was just that. I could buy and not need to worry. The inseam was a touch longer, which was nice, since I have long legs.
Friday, I walked into the J. Jill in the mall. Being cautious, I decided to try on the jeans–just in case. Plus the sales women were looking at me strangely. What? A woman in Dr. Martens can’t shop at J. Jill? Just watch me.
Tried and true? Eh, not so much. Sometime while I wasn’t looking, they modified the design.
But I really needed jeans. So, I tried The Gap. They have something called “curvy” fit now. It’s okay. But I’m not spending that much money on something I feel meh about.
I trudged on over to Eddie Bauer. Apparently, someone in their marketing department got a clue. They now have something called “shaped fit” jeans, one size smaller in the waist than in the hips.
This, people, is what I’ve been looking for. All. My. Life. Finally, someone in the clothing industry who realized that no, my waist is not the same size as my hips. The only time my waist was the same size/bigger was when I was pregnant. And I don’t think that counts.
I sucked it up and bought four pair–yes, I needed jeans that badly. Two straight leg, long (so sweet–fits in waist and in leg), and two with the boot cut, one in black. Admittedly, the waist still puckers, just a bit. But I can deal. Plus, they are so comfortable.
So, for the time being, I have jeans.
Merry Christmas to me.
Writing Wrongs 