I was never a leggings-as-pants kind of girl. In fact, I was always as vehemently opposed to the idea as I was to rompers and overalls coming back in style (I thought I was done with those after I left elementary school?) Before all of you pro-leggings folks start flipping out about how severely mistaken my views are, let me explain. I’m all for anyone wearing whatever the heck they want and feel comfortable in without being judged, but passing off leggings as actual pants just never appealed to me.
Let me be clear about what I mean by the term “leggings.” I’m not talking about jeggings (“jean leggings,” for those of you that aren’t up to date with their modern pant nomenclature). They seem sufficiently sturdy thanks to whatever it is about them that makes them denim-esque, and can therefore pass the standard for pants in my book. Neither do I mean yoga pants or running tights or anything else in the category of athletic wear, as those give the impression that one has been or is planning on exercising in the near future. Classic leggings—made of what is probably a one-percent-cotton to ninety-nine-percent-spandex ratio—though, usually suggest quite the opposite. For daily wear, depending on such a thin layer of fabric to keep all those important bits hidden leaves me feeling too exposed to the world. Plus, no pockets. Not that normal pants made for females have pockets that one could actually use for storing anything other than maybe a tube of chapstick, but I’d still appreciate having the illusion.
However, after two-and-a-half semesters of college, I’ve finally reached that pivotal point that I feel like most college students come to in their academic careers, where I just had so much stuff to do and so little motivation to do it that putting on real clothes just seemed like asking far too much of myself. I’m pretty sure that living without a roommate this year was also partly to blame for this act of what some might call laziness, as now there was absolutely no one to judge me for wearing nothing but glorified pajamas for an entire weekend (as long as I kept my door locked and became a social recluse). Unfortunately, I soon came to realize that I couldn’t subsist on granola bars and peanut butter, and that it was probably necessary to venture outside in order to scavenge for food at the Deece. This also meant admitting to the universe that I was breaking what I thought was one of my most adamant fashion rules and going over to the dark side. I opened the Pandora’s box of leggings-wearing for the rest of eternity. This could either be very very bad, or very very good.
Yet, I have concluded that I still can’t view leggings as pants. Rather, they deserve their own special category reserved for comfortingly hugging you tighter than any human could in times of stress, and letting everyone know that, while you’re still holding onto the last shreds of your sanity, you’re about two seconds away from throwing in the metaphorical towel and wearing nothing but pajamas for the remainder of your life.