It was a week before suburbia strangled me, with its Mayfair filtered landscapes that garnished cropped homes and bottles of Domaine Georges & Christophe Roumier Musigny Grand Cru on Bunko night. It was the week Yoga pants seduced us all with the way they forgivingly stretched to accommodate an evening spent with too many gas station nachos, the way they move softly with our thighs as if to say, “Hush now, I know it’s Monday and your kids have to be at school at 7:30 A.M. for special projects they signed up to do and following that you must make a trip to the bank, gas station, and grocery store with three preschoolers in tow. Eat that victory doughnut, I got you girl.” It was because of this unwavering assurance that yoga pants began dominating the world, turning all women who dare give in to their siren-like lure of seductive comfort into nihilists who were willing to forsake all meaning in life simply because of wearing these pants that could best resemble the pull of Medusa.
Well, not unless your name is Kerry Folan who, possibly in a state of drunkenness, decided that writing this
piece of crap article would be a good idea. I’m going to now allow you the following moments to read so we’re on the same page.
*Humming Jeopardy theme* Oh… was that annoying? Sorry.
*Munching loudly on gas station nachos* Oh… sorry… You’re still reading.
*Twiddles thumbs* See? There’s a nice, quiet way to pass the time.
Oh…. You’re finished! Great, now we may proceed.
f you’ve read my past posts you’ll first know I’m not one to judge. So, I’m not going to judge Kerry for her opinions. If anything, the article made me very much aware of one major issue… and it’s not yoga pants.
“Women in my neighborhood go about their entire day in yoga pants and running shoes. Moms with strollers, undergrads on campus, girlfriends meeting up for coffee dates or errands — I have even seen women dressed this way for cocktails.” (Folan)
This excerpt is alarming for several reasons and subsequently brings me to the entire point of the post. WHY THE HELL IS SHE FOLLOWING PEOPLE FOR AN ENTIRE DAY???!!!!? Sorry for the all caps, but seriously. With all the banter I read about this article on the internet NOT ONE blogger seems to be concerned that there’s a woman publicly admitting to keeping tabs on what these women are wearing… not just one woman. The piece doesn’t read that she followed one woman for an entire day; it clearly denotes the plural form of the noun ‘women’. How is she getting away with this?
Perhaps these women do not start their day out in yoga pants. Maybe, just maybe they wake up in footed pajamas like I often do, and maybe, just maybe after a nice long morning shower they wear a robe, but I’m saying maybe. I don’t know for certain because my name’s not Kerry Folan and I have many other things to do with my day than follow other women to cocktails and coffee with friends so I can judge their attire.
I’m personally too preoccupied with getting my kids to school, driving around on morning errands, the nature of which is often extensive and to protect my anonymity from fashion bloggers who may or may not be following me around, I will refrain from listing, picking my kids up from school, and running them to a gamut of activities before coming home to cook dinner. Anyone out there feeling me?
“What we wear sends a message to the world. An Hermes handbag makes a statement about wealth and luxury. A pair of four-inch Louboutin heels makes a statement about sex and power. Yoga pants make a statement about comfort and modernity. When we board a flight or run to the grocery store swaddled in cotton-lycra, we are saying to the people around us that our own comfort is our first priority.” (Folan)
Here’s problem number two. Anyone who knows me will tell you one thing: I don’t own a purse. Rather, I keep everything in a handy little wallet I can use a rock climbing latch to hook to my pants or the grocery cart so it doesn’t get away from me. When I go into a grocery store in yoga pants the only thing I’m thinking about is how the shelves all seem to collapse inward as the floor slants and I struggle to move between forests of people. Now, 99.9% of that is all in my head because I struggle with anxiety. She’s right when she says comfort is my priority when it comes to my clothing. That’s not selfish, it’s smart. Smart because if everything else is going to make me significantly uncomfortable and I have little to no control over those feelings, shouldn’t I have control over the one thing I can be comfortable with? That’s my choice of attire.
I will leave you with this final tidbit and a few words of advice for Kerry Folan from us selfish comfort seekers: Whatever you do, DO NOT enter the Wal-Mart. Yes, it beckons you with its stock-up-and-save-sales and convenience of having everything you can imagine under one roof, but if you’re strutting around the D.C. area in your ten-inch spiked fashion heels and your thousand-dollar ball gown with a hundred dollar up-do and your name happens to be Kerry Folan, refrain from walking through the motorized double doors as your eyes will be assaulted by a fashion show that might best be described as Halloween meets Crocs meets parachute pants meets crimped hair.
Also, watch out for cracks in sidewalks as a friend and I, accompanied by our socially reprehensible yoga pants recently attended a vampire convention and I can personally vouch the walkways are not high-heel friendly. Thank God I’m not ashamed of being a selfish bitch who was taught not to worry about what other people think, otherwise I might’ve twisted an ankle on my six-inch Steve Maddens.