I was talking to Angie this past weekend on our way to town (reminds me, IOU another Paris post) and I came to a rather liberating realization:
I am not a jeans kind of girl.
Ahh! It feels so good to just admit it out loud! In cyberspace...
Remember when jeans were like all.the.rage? They still are. But I remember being completely obsessed with finding the perfect pair of Citizens of Humanity, or Seven for All Mankind, or Joe's, or Blue Cults or whatever $150+ range that Gwenyth Paltrow was strutting down SoHo with.
But you know what? I'm too short. I'm too short and too curvy and they just don't feel good to me. They're cold in the mornings, nip me in all the wrong places, you can't see my cute shoes and let me tell you nothing makes you feel fatter faster than seam lines running down your thighs.
I almost feel like a traitor to fashion, particularly with my shopping roots from SoCal, but I just don't need that kind of... attitude from a pair of pants.
So there you go. This weekend I am having a Jeans Exodus and all but three pairs are going in the donation box. Yes, I'm still holding onto 3 because I'm not living like a caveman with pelts and I admit some jeans have their place in the wardrobe. Jeans will now operate on a "one in, one out" system.
Everything else is getting chucked. I'm too ashamed to tell you the number of other pairs that have been suffering from years of languishing in the closet but let's just say I am potentially making a small sorority of thrifty fashionistas very happy.
So what kind of girl am I then? Pretty much anything else! Dresses and skirts and trousers and shorts and leggings, oooh yeah leggings! Just not jeans.