First, it was the harem pants.
Then, it was the romper.
Now, I own jeggings.
(Well, actually, they're not really jeggings. They're imitation jeggings. Which is probably worse. They don't have pockets or a faux fly; they're just ill-fitting denim leggings. I think they're ill-fitting because whoever designed them neglected to decide which was the ass and which was the front, so as a result there is no room for ass on either side, which must be especially troubling for those blessed with FUPAs.)
Jeff made me get them. We were using our his-and-hers DSW gift cards from Santa (black ballet flats for me, brown dress shoes for him--I know you care) and were waiting in line at the checkout when Jeff spotted the jeggings. "You must buy these," he said, thrusting them into my bag. I acquiesced only because I had another $15 on my gift card, and was feeling daring.
They did not look good. (If you're thinking, "Photo or it didn't happen!" then I will claim it did not happen.) I wasn't surprised. Jeggings are just leggings pretending to be pants. Anyone who does not look good in leggings will not look good in jeggings.
The scary thing is that jeggings are everywhere. They can cost more than $100. Which got me thinking, when and where will we draw the line?
Since I was recently gifted with a Project Runway fashion sketch pad, I decided to try to visualize the coming Japocalypse:
My friend Margaret pointed out that it will probably come full circle eventually with Jjeans. Let's just hope I'm dead by then.
P.S. If you look awesome in jeggings, more power to you. Buy 700 pairs and wear them all day long! I don't hate the player (jeggings), I just hate the game (skin-tight pants of any kind). And I only hate them because they don't look good on me.