When high-waist jeans came back into style, my first thought was, “No freaking way.” I’ve seen the photos of my mom and her sisters from the early ‘90’s. The tucked-in shirts, the unflattering behinds, the zippers that went on for days. No wonder my mom eyed the one-inch long zippers of my high school days with suspicion.
I’m comfortable with a mid-rise. I don’t care to go back to the low-rise, micro-zippers from my high school and college days, but a mid-rise? Yes, please. They hold in my not-quite-so-tight tummy and rest comfortably above my c-section scar. Cropped shirts are apparently back, too, and with my mid-rise jeans, well, I can hold my own in some of those cropped styles. No problem. See how fashion-forward I am?
Never a high-rise though. The horror. I swore them off on principle.
I’m sure you know how this story ends: I was seduced by the mom jeans.
It was the softness of the denim that first drew me in. I didn’t know they were high waist at first, as I was looking through the rack. By the time I realized what I had done, it was too late. The material felt as worn and comfortable as a pair of sweatpants. I grabbed the hanger and headed to the dressing room. Surely it couldn’t hurt to try them on.
Then it was the fit. I don’t know if it’s because of the high-rise waist or if they just really do fit me that well, but there is no gapping at the waist. And the length? Perfect.
I crept out of the dressing room and stood in the store, out in the open, where anyone could see me. I was certain I looked ridiculous. I looked at them in the three-way mirror from all angles.
Actually…they weren’t bad.
I tucked the front of my shirt in the waistband. The half-tuck. Surely I could save myself. There was no way they would look good now.
Nope. Still fine.
I felt the same internal struggle as I did over our minivan purchase. The minivan. The mom jeans. The coffee, the wine, all the Target runs. Now I could do it all in my minivan and my high-rise jeans. My brain began to rationalize.
I own plenty of high-waisted leggings. This really wasn’t any different, right? Even if they were made out of denim. And they were awfully comfortable. I could wear them out to dinner just as easily as playing with the kids on the floor. The cut has been updated from what it was 30 years ago. I mean, honestly. It’s not like I was wearing my mom’s bleached-out high-waisters from the year I was born. Right?
Those thoughts, combined with an extra 15% off denim that day, sealed the deal. I walked out of the door, half-pleased, half terrified of my purchase. They were mine.
Since that fateful day in the store, they’re my most-worn pair of jeans. Their comfort has held up, and they really do work for everything from grabbing drinks to making dinner to playing dinosaurs. Every now and then I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and feel like some sort of ‘80’s blast from the past (minus the scrunchie on my wrist, though I hear those are back, too).
I feel like I’ve leveled up (or down, depending on how you look at it). From Prius to minivan, two-piece to a one-piece, from the cheapest leggings I could find to investing in the tummy control. My Friday nights are more often spent cleaning up a dinner of chicken nuggets than grabbing drinks with friends.
I don’t even care. I’m digging these mom jeans, even rocking them, and everything that comes with it. Cheerio-strewn minivan and all.