When I was a young mall goth, freshly outfitted in the finest UFO pants and oversized t-shirts with slogans that said things like “As a matter of fact the world does revolve around me”, my primary fashion goals were to let everyone know what a snarky asshole I was and to hide my body.
I discovered lolita fashion, which was an avenue to my discovery of my feminine side. I got into the idea of self-acceptance and loving the body you have, and it made me want to hide it less. The more feminine I dressed and the less of myself I hid, the less I wore pants. It got to the point where I had no idea why I owned jeans in the first place.
Because of my body shape (big belly, no butt, proportionally toned legs, no hips), pants never stay up, nor are they flattering in any way. When I was working at the bank, a particularly stupid co-worker initiated this exchange:
Co-worker: Mary, no offense but…
Co-worker: Do you ever wear pants?
Me: Ohhhh. No.
Why would that question be offensive? I had been expecting her to ask me if I ever showered, or if I actually kept human body parts in my lunch bag because I seemed like the type. NO OFFENSE TAKEN, FORMER CO-WORKER. Pants are agony for someone shaped like me. Until one day, on a trip to the Bucks County Antique Gallery, I found them. The pants.
They seem like they were handmade in the 70s. They have an elastic waist and no tag. They remind me of PA dutch hex signs and summer pool parties where people eat disgusting stuff like ambrosia. They are comfortable but confusing.
I cheated, though. I did not wear enormous platforms all day at work. I actually wore these:
But tiny little flats diffuse the majesty of these pants! They require a shoe with some guts, some bravado! Unfortunately guts and bravado don’t make it easy to be on my feet for 8 hours.
I thought you ought to know that sometimes I DO close my gaping maw.
top: Kensie, size L
pants: Bucks County Antique Gallery, vintage
shoes: which ones? the tan ones are demonia, thrifted, and the little oxfords are qupid