The Skinny Jean Is Dead! Long Live My Nether Regions!


“They fit,” I cry with no small amount of triumph from inside the changing room at a popular high-street store.

“Do they just fit? Are do they fit properly?” my friend says from the other side of those precariously held together curtains that can only promise and never actually give privacy.

“Nothing is bulging out,” is my reply.

She pulls aside the curtain, and looks me over. I do the customary twirl to show her that we’ve finally found a pair of skinny jeans that I can fit into.

“They don’t fit. Get a smaller size.” My friend is a fashion sage, but sometimes she’s also a styling-dominatrix.

“I’m a size ten, these fit.”

“If you can put on a pair of new skinny jeans and still breath, you need a size smaller.”

I try another pair. I hop, skip, jump, wiggle — all in the 1-foot-by-1-foot area of the changing room. I hit my elbow against one corner, stub my toe on another. I’m embarrassed till, through another sheeting, I see another woman positively pirouette in order to stuff herself into the same  pants.

They make me waddle rather than walk, but I buy the jeans anyway. I wear them despite the fact that kneeling, crossing my legs, even sitting down straight causes blood to stop flowing through my lower body. I buy them because my friend says, “Oh my god, look how good your ass looks in them!”

liz_jeansDoes it? I would turn my head to see, but I’m scared a button may pop if my torso moves even the slightest. (Later, at dinner where I eat a taco and drink one too many fizzy drinks, the button does indeed pop.)

Oh, fashion industry. I’ve thanked you for many things: over-the-knee boots so I won’t have to shave my legs every time I wear a skirt; the off shoulder peasant top to hide my taco-belly while fooling people into thinking the rest of me is as slender as that shoulder.

But for years now, I’ve had a bone to pick with you. It’s been nearly a decade now that you’ve been telling women to wear these corsets for their legs. And not just legs, but my hips and my crotch have some broken bones they’d like to throw at you.

A decade of pretending to like having little to no feeling below our waists. I’m not just over-the-moon you’re finally moving on to the 70s flare. I’m can-caning in my new bell bottoms because, in them, I finally can!

And when the distressed skinny leaves the building, I’ll be even more grateful. Raise your hands all the women who are too scared to sit in those! Whose thigh fat doesn’t protrude from those punk chic (but pre-made) rips?

With the death of the skinny jeans, my crotch feels alive again.  Donning my flare trousers, I feel like the women who burnt their bras in the 60s. I’m definitely a more sociable person now that I don’t have to remove my undies from between my vag-crack every five minutes.

It is, however, sad that the trick for this, which I spent hours devising, won’t be useful anymore. It’s that perfect mix of  the cha-cha and Gangnam style.

putting on skinny jeans

When else is a girl gonna get to do this?

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(These looks were created using Polyvore App for iPhone)

Avantika Mehta
Written by

Editor, Pyjama People

Avantika Mehta used to be a lawyer, resident Blue Frog party freak and proud wearer of harem pants curated from Kasol. Then she became a writer and it all went downhill. Famous Scottish journalists have been known to call her ‘a volatile woman.’

Twitter @bitingfriends / Instagram: @bitingfriends