It was such a shame while I was out with my girlfriends when I realized I am incredibly uncomfortable in my jeans. Ohhh the way they squeezed me, pinching my stomach and sides, making me wish I didn’t eat that second helping of fries. This is probably the same feeling girlfriends get when their boyfriend's arm is attached around them at a party for the night.
Annoyed, uncomfortable, and also sad.
And these boyfriend jeans were squeezing the life out of me, or at least my last meal.
A couple months ago these pair of jeans was handcrafted by Levi’s. I remember how I fell in love with these jeans the day I walked into Rock n Rose while vintage crawling with a friend last fall. My fingers scrolled through the racks until I finally laid my hands on a pair of eye candy. High waisted, white-casted, abrasion on the knees and boyfriend fitted captured me. I immediately asked for a fitting room and scrambled to slip on the pair of blue jeans. Like a glove, they slid perfectly up my figure. I did a couple turns to check out how they hugged me, perfectly. I jumped around and bent down to check the durability, lovely.
Everything went fabulously with my pair of jeans. They had a couple affairs with a pair of Steve Madden short rain boots, knock off booty heels, and a pair of one strapped Mary Jane’s Doc Martens. But they never failed to get along well with a pair of Converse. They were my go to’s when I was stressed out over what to wear or just wanted to mask my laziness when I needed to dress up. Even when they got caught on a sharp corner and ripped while cleaning at work my sweet pair of jeans managed to hold up due to their quality.
To continue my uncomfortable realization, when I looked down at the discomfort I noticed I was also causing a lot of this tension to myself. My zipper was protruding and the button looked like it was about to descend west ways and hit the guy next to me. Why was I 20 more pounds heavier in my favorite pair of jeans?
I stood up immediately. Obviously sitting down wasn’t something I could do tonight. Even while standing and walking around my jeans pinched and hollered mean names at me. I regretted everything I ever ate; I scolded myself for skipping the gym so much, and worst of all I am completely uncomfortable in what I was going out in. I had a long shirt, so I just left my jeans unbuttoned until I was in a safe place to remove them.
They had nothing left to say or do to me while they laid on my bed. There they are just sitting there as cute and hip as when I had first met them. I had so many good outfits, looks, and compliments in them. How could they just betray me like that so quickly?
I then peaked at the size hiding in the back. The number 24 was clear once I was focused. I knew then that it wasn’t my own doing and patted down those emotions of shame and insecurity.
I’m a growing lady. Just turning 18 and still gaining weight in places friendly and not so friendly as well, my waist being one of them. I also like to eat bread and enjoy candy from time to time, so my stomach isn’t solid flat. It’s just a matter of nature taking its course on me, turning my body fit to be a woman’s.
I stopped beating myself up over not being able to fit into a 24 anymore, and any girl feeling the same shame should stop too. Hitting the gym or eating less isn’t going to stop a ladies body from trying to grow and look better than a teeny teenager. Parting is such sweet sorrow, with a pair of jeans that have been made perfect for me.
I’m now finding another pair of jeans that fit my popping booty and me.
