After a certain point, those nice American Eagle and Hollister jeans no longer do it. They are too tight around the waist and entirely too loose around my absent behind. There’s also the concern that a 15 year old is going to recognize the tag and make snide remarks as I’m innocently sauntering around the mall or one of my students will wear it better.
Since my college jeans were fraying at the ends, stained from dining hall delicacies, and not cooperating with an adult body no longer in my early twenties, it was time to make an upgrade. Combing through the racks of Marshall’s, I resigned to a size above what I squeezed into during college and kept looking for the most form fitting pants. I still wanted to look young as the yappie (young Asian professional) I am and grabbed two pairs of skinny jeans. In the dressing room, I felt like a goddess. I was finally growing into a woman body at 26 and happily took the selections to the register to check out.
I’m one of those people who try on brand new clothes the moment I get home, and, of course, I slipped on my spanking new skinny jeans before seeing Kevin. Hoping to receive a barrage of compliments from my love, I paraded around the house.
“What do you think about my new jeans?” The anticipation was building and I prepared my heart to absorb these amorous words –
“Your mom jeans?”
I deflated. “These are not mom jeans! I mean they’re comfortable, but they’re also stylish. They’re skinny jeans!” I waited for his rebuttal. Kevin took a handful of the fabric on the side of my thigh and pulled. They stretched.
“See? 50% spandex! Mom jeans,” he said with a winning smile. Flustered by his response, I asked my other family members, namely my dad since we were at my parents’ home, to which there was a resounding consensus.
Later that day I considered my jeans, so comfortably and affectionately wrapped around my legs. This was the most comfortable I’ve ever been in jeans and the most beautiful. I also felt very confident because they stretched; I didn’t have to worry about overflow; I didn’t have to unbutton my jeans while driving because of the pressure, and my tiny booty was sufficiently supported and accentuated. If wearing “mom jeans” means feeling all of these things, then yes my love, I am wearing some freaking awesome mom jeans and have no intention of stopping.