So, I have these pants. They’re Dockers and denim, but they’re dark and cut like slacks. I call them dressy jeans. I do that. I have jeans like this:
dressy jeans – as above, and another pair, longer, for heels
regular jeans – Levi’s five-oh-I-dunno, one has a design on the back pockets
mom jeans – because bloating is real
skinny jeans – because bloating doesn’t last forever
super skinny jeans – because some days I CAN, okay?
CK jeans – you can’t make me give them up, they still have a waist as high as my own
bling jeans – they’re bedazzled
holey jeans — because weekends, and really, who I am
The Mister just has jeans. I’ve asked.
Dressing for a woman is complicated. It involves many choices. Much of our dressing success depends on the season and the weather and the event and our shoes and our bra and our hair and I could be better at this, in fact, I am, but I’m just all the time annoyed by the shoes and the bra and the hair and it makes me sorta resentful, because I didn’t choose this, it was marketed to us and now it’s a societal norm.
I’m not naive enough to believe clothes don’t matter. Everyone has had a day they went out lookin hectic and the world responded accordingly.
Do you know women can’t even choose our undergarments until we’ve selected our clothes for the day?
Some woman out there is gonna say this is all poppycock and I’ll agree, fuck yeah it is, but there will be more women who get it than don’t.
I’m not brave like that woman, okay? I need my norm camouflage.
I have too many shoes, and yet, I don’t have enough shoes. I love shoes, love them, but hate wearing them.
I OWN accessories, I BUY accessories, I just don’t wear them often. If you ask my left hand, we’ve been unmarried for about a year. Left wrist is concerned we haven’t worn our nearly constant charm bracelet. I have tons of earrings, but mostly they hang on their tree and I wear the same two pair at least three days a week. Get this: Same earrings — one set white gold, one set gold. Today I’m wearing a necklace, but I haven’t worn it in months.
I’m simply a Plain Jane. I’m not down on myself about it, but I really don’t understand why the world isn’t set up for me to wear white cotton tops and holey jeans every day all the time, crazy hair spazzin out as it does.
Seriously, my hair is an accessory. Do I want to give myself a blowout every two days? Do I? No. I don’t know how my hair doesn’t have its own blog, really.
Don’t get me started on the makeup. Oh, too late. When I don’t wear makeup, I feel just great. When I leave the house without makeup, I am sick. Sick of being asked if I’m feeling alright.
I have an okay face. It’s often red and blotchy, but the features are all in the right spots for a human.
I really think my face is suitable for public viewing on its own.
All I’m sayin is I won’t be in the Red Hat Society. I’ll be in some sorta straw hat society where shoeless women tend meadows.
Anyway, I’ve had this pair of Dockers for about five years. Drew gave them to me. Drew is always bringing clothes to us because she gets rid of old clothes and buys new clothes as if she’s got her fashion license and she enjoys shopping, where as I’m out because my favorite shirt has 17 holes in it and I’m supposed to replace it. I’m all, “Is it cotton? Does it come in white? Gray then? Blue? Pink? Is it on sale? Okay.” I have enough black for Tuesdays. Truly.
So one day, I was wearin the Docker jean pant things and I was seated upon the potty, and I happened to look down and read my breeches for the first time, and behold, they said unto me:
And it cracked me up.
For fuck’s sake, they’re Dockers!
No one is buying Dockers because they’re into wow. People buy Dockers because they’re going to work and they’re choosy about dry clean items.
What the hell kinda pants are ya wearin when you decide Dockers are wow? Stained, holey, grayed long underwear with a sagging crotch?
Was marketing all, “Well Dove chocolate puts inspirational words on their wrappers, we should do that on our waistbands!”
“Yes, we’ll be like chocolate!”
I don’t think Dockers should talk. They should be quiet and sensible.
That’s prolly why Drew got rid of the pants. I bet she read that and could not even. I don’t even know why she bought them. It seems impossible. Maybe her mom bought them for her.
Then the super fast imaginary tortoise in my head told me to hurry up and pee, and I thought, aha, there’s a blog post in there!
Have you ever thought a brand was WAY off the mark with their words? Do your pants SAY things?