Mamazina Blog: I Do Not Concede to Frumpy Jeans

Have you seen the SNL skit, Mom Jeans? If you haven't you should view it on You Tube, but I can sum up for you: jeans for moms are typically, humorously high, with an elastic waist, are non-sexy, made only for comfort, must be anti-style, and frumpy.

I agree, and I love the sarcasm of the SNL skit. And I, like many moms, am suffering from a wardrobe conundrum: I detest the low-rise, hip-level jeans of today but I'm not ready to concede to frumpiness. I don't just dislike low-rise, hip-level jeans because they're uncomfortable and potentially unsightly. I dislike them because they have made the classic fit, or at-waist jeans hard to find and uncool. I once had a contemporary pair of hip-slung, bootcut jeans from the Gap, and while they were faded to the right color and stylish, I was always pulling them up to my waist, though they weren't meant to go any higher.

I am a child of the 80s - I wore tapered Guess jeans in the early part of the decade and had button-fly Levi's in the following washes/colors: faded, stonewashed, black, and white, and these jeans transitioned me into the 90s. When I was young, jeans at belly-button level were the only option available. And that was fine, because these jeans, now called "classic" or "at waist" didn't give parents heart attacks. They didn't expose underwear when the person wearing them bent over, or even bent down. Jean wearers used to be pretty uniform and safe.

It seems a very cruel joke of fashion on me that the only jeans available after I had my children - these Godforsaken hip slung things - require the invention of a new term for the majority of people who wear them but don't fit into them: muffin-top. The amount of material required to make jeans of today is smaller only in comparison to the demographic of women who can get away with wearing them: too thin, not too old, but not too young.

But I have fought back against the muffin top. In the past few months I have managed to lose 15 pounds, and get to a weight I haven't seen since January 2001. But the smallest jeans I have in my closet are size 10 jeans. To keep them from falling and exposing my mid-section, I have been wearing belts and long shirts. Last night hubby came up to me while I was washing the dishes (we have very substantive communication during this time), and tugged on the rear belt loop of my jeans. He said "These are starting to sag on you, huh?"

What I heard was: "You've earned the right to get new clothes, honey."

I don't like to shop in stores. I avoid it whenever I can, for myself. However, I needed new jeans, and before I bought a pair of size 8 jeans off eBay, I knew I had to do the unthinkable: walk my derriere into a store, then a small fitting room, take off my shoes, my pants, look at myself in the fitting room mirror (I'm convinced these are made to be as unflattering as possible), hope my toddler didn't open the fitting room door or throw open the curtain, and slide myself one inch at a time into a pair of pants I prayed would fit me.

The closest clothes store to my house is a Ross, and I thought, well, if the size 8s fit me, they'd probably be inexpensive enough at Ross to buy, right before the holidays when I usually only spend money on family members. A win-win. Think positive, Sam! I told myself.

There we were at Ross, three-year-old Melia and me, and I found the size 8 jeans section. Next to the size 8s, I spotted in the size 6 section a pair of white jeans with light brown stitching. Maybe it's the 80s thing, but I love, LOVE white jeans, especially with brown stitching. They looked as wide around the waist as the size 8s, maybe even bigger. They begged me to try them on. The fabric was soft. The button was copper. I grabbed the white size 6 jeans, three pairs of blue size 8 jeans, and headed into the fitting room with Melia who had an Ariel something-or-other keeping her busy.

Positive thinking at work, I tried the white jeans size 6 on first.

They fit, and not only that, I didn't have to hold my breath, suck it in, lie down to zipper them, or look at myself in four different angles for measure. I knew it by the way they felt - room to breathe, comfy, and strangely like a broken in pair of sweats.

The last time I wore a size this small - a lavender, 3-piece suit I bought at Nordstrom during my lunch break ten years ago when I had a real job - was when one of my clients brought George Will to speak during a luncheon at the hotel where I was a Catering Manager. Right before I got pregnant with child #1. Being a small size seemed to help my mood quite a bit, then, too.

"Samantha, why didn't you tell us you were bringing in such a high profile speaker? We could have used it to our advantage," said a member of the Executive Commitee to me.

"I apologize, I should have thought of that," I replied. That's okay. I'll get over it. I'm a size 5 now.

"Have you talked to your client? They're way over their guarantee, the kitchen is scrambling," the always pissy Banquet Manager barked at me.

"The salads were pre-set, George Will will keep them entertained until their food comes," I said to him. It'll all work out. I'm a size 5, after all.

Truth is, there is a superficial side to me that wants to always be a small size. It's been wired into my brain probably from about the time I was in junior high; the thinner you are, the happier you'll be. I know better now, but to be totally honest, I haven't completely shed the desire to be skinny.

So these size 6 jeans I fit into were a reward for me, I believed, and I felt physically and emotionally like I did, pre-children. Victory, right?

When I was standing in line at the register to buy them, I looked a little closer at the jeans - the brand name, etc. The brand name is Not Your Daughter's Jeans.

Mom jeans.

Mom jeans that retail $128 at Nordstrom, but mom jeans, all the same. Better yet - they are called "Tummy Tuck" jeans, which made me imagine Tanya Tucker doing a Nutrisystem commercial. Not Your Daughter's Jeans (NYDJ on one of the inside labels) are made specifically for bodies with belly issues. I think, when I looked them up online, they said something about butt issues too.

A denouement to my spinning-class, portion control, jean-searching story.

The fantasy, time warp, euphoric element of my new jeans was still intact, but...matured.

And you know what? That's fine with me! I don't care if they are considered mom jeans, or if they aren't. My NYDJ size 6 are so comfortable, I don't feel constantly compelled to pull them up at the waist, and I got them for a really good price. The superficial part of me who wants to be tiny surrendered to the real me; the curvy, had-3-kids, happy-who-I-am person who is simply excited to get new threads. I am pleased to say there is a pragmatic side to this - my new white jeans with khaki stitching can be paired with anything.

Anything - nostalgia, Converse high tops or low tops, certitude, an old Queensryche t-shirt from the 80s, many layers of cotton or feminine complexity, ruffled top blouse, boots, and vintage earrings for a bohemian look. And in these jeans is the same girl I have always been.

I'm cool with her.

She - me - does not concede to frumpy jeans, or resignation of any facet of herself. Huh-uh.

I turn 38 today, I'm a mom but still a woman, and I feel less like starving myself into social acceptance than I do spending hundreds of dollars on mom jeans.

How I love falling into the right pair of jeans, it's like falling in love...jeans that fit me like they were made for me, whatever size I may be.