I found a pair of yoga pants one evening while scouring the fitness* racks at T.J. Maxx. They were a perfect fit all around–even length. For some reason, clothing makers all think we’re eight feet tall, so it’s always a bonus for those of us who are vertically challenged to find pants that fit straight off the rack. These pants soon became my favorite wardrobe pick–they look pretty pant-like, so I can get away with wearing them without looking like all I’m missing are the curlers in mah herrs.
I love them, I tell you. LOVE.
Good thing they’re so flexible, because I was soon kicking myself in the hind quarters for not buying 2 or 10 more pairs of them. Gah. Back to the clothing racks I went in search of a duplicate or close second.
After several unsuccessful ventures, I figured I’d go back to T.J. Maxx to see if they might still be carrying some from Avia.
I must have dragged about 20 pairs of yoga pants into that teeny stall. I was cautiously hopeful that one might actually fit nicely in all the right places and not be ill-fitting and draw pervy attention to all the wrong places.
First off, to the girls whose thighs actually glide into those fitted/tapered versions of yoga pants, you suck. I thought the whole idea behind yoga pants was to have them be all loosey goosey so you can
finally relax and take a full breath twist your toned body into all those adorable yoga poses.
Aren’t they supposed to be the go-to pants when we want to sit cross-legged and chill? Well, my self does not appreciate the twigger thighs, dear manufacturers. I’m all about the comfort. Avia understands me, but, sadly, their pants were nowhere to be found.
The scene looked pretty much like this:
I finally found a pair that looked good, but they were a little more sweat-panty than I would have liked. Desperate times, my friends. I bought them anyway and trotted home happy that I now had two pairs of super comfy pants that could kinda sorta pass for normal pants in public.
It wasn’t until I got home that I noticed the pants didn’t have a hem at the bottom. “Huh.” I thought. “I wonder if someone cut off the bottoms and returned them.” So I did what any
nutbag mildly suspicious wombat would do: I called the company to inquire about their hemlines.
“Yes,” a teeny sounding and mildly confused Asian woman confirmed. “They are rolled hem pants. No hem.”
Confident in the knowledge that I wasn’t wearing consumer-shorn slacks, I washed them and wore them the next day. Love! Drawstring waist with some elastic, butt fits, and not a mammal foe in sight.
[Sidebar: You what? You don't wash new clothes before wearing them? I have three words for you: Dirty factory floor. You're welcome.]
I ran errands in the rain that day, and soon found my perfect-length pants were now greeting the ground with each sloppy, sleety step.
Crap. They grew.
My girlfriend said she cuts hers all the time without hemming them, and I thought “Ooh, rolled hem!” and got all excited that I could just trim them, stitch the sides for reinforcement and away we’d go.
Yoga Pants and me against the world.
If Mary Tyler Moore could make it, gosh darn it, so could we. We might even dig up a jaunty hat to toss in the air for good measure next time we’re crossing the street at a busy intersection of town (and by town I mean upscale suburb, since I’d practically have to run at full tilt if I were crossing city streets. Cars don’t stop for you there.).
On day two of the new pants, I noticed they were again reaching for the ground. It was like every step I took they were doing a little yoga stretch but not rebounding. This was not good. Also, they were no longer rolling. I quickly consulted Guru Google to see if I didn’t cut them properly and found these ladies and their tutorial. Hunh. They both look miserable in their photos, which I can only imagine means they, too, are bummed about their draggy drawers, and I’ve wasted precious time even consulting them.
I was quickly becoming that young girl I want to smack squarely on the forehead who wears flip flops (or Uggs) year-round with hems shredded from being entirely underfoot with each step.
I was laughing with my hair dresser about it when I noticed hers were creeping under her feet and she said, “Don’t cut them again! Wash them! They’ll shrink back up.” Who knew?
So now I’m down to my one fabulous pair of Avia yoga pants and that Stretch Armstrong pair. Awesome. I guess I’ll be headed out shopping again soon. Probably not in the draggy pants.
*I giggle when I see this sign, as I’m sure many people are scouring these racks for the same reason I am, and it certainly isn’t fitness. I go for the gold medal in comfort whenever possible.