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| My Secret Weapon |
Jeggings. The name alone makes me wince. Call me old-fashioned but why does denim require genetically modification? More disturbingly, why the hell are these hybrids taking over the high street? From what I understand, the stretchy jean imposter is both comfy and easy on the thigh. This puts it at an advantage to its more draconian skinny counterpart. Much like Marxism however, the jegging is sound in principle; untenable in practice. Cast your glance at a pair thrust into Uggs with nowt but a crop top for company and it can well scar your retina for life. Nothing socially democratic there.
I wasn't about to take that chance. The memory of extracting myself from a pair of spray-ons in the BT2 changing rooms was enough. Skinning a sausage would have looked sexier. Since then my pear like curves have taken a vow of chastity - a promise that this season's denim trend has caused me to rethink. Despite my unwillingness to put out for a pair of skinnies, let alone jeggings, my quest for 'the one' remains. Boyfriend? Too fat rapper. Harem? Insta-man bits. Overalls? No John Boy. No. There's a reason why skinnies are only worn by the super thin and the super young - because they can. Do you think Kate Moss frets about possible loss of circulation in her thighs? Hardly. Fashion at its most fascist.
Funnily enough, it took a pregnant woman and The Afternoon Show to change my mind about jeggings. While styling a maternity fashion segment for the programme, I sneakily tried on a pair from Topshop (€53) meant for one of the models. Not only did they achieve what skinny jeans couldn't (i.e. not turning me into a human turnip), their discrete expandable elastic panel proved commodious enough to accommodate any fat day. Oh joy. Oh insane rapture. Equality achieved! The possibilities were endless - the ability to breathe, cross one's legs, bend at the knee. Whether wearing maternity jeggings will ever be taken seriously by the fashion elite is a moot point but I'm prepared to preach like a crazy convert. It's a new revolution - one that holds manifold possibilities for all body types. Go on, laugh. But if I start seeing less-than-pregnant looking girls milling around Mamas and Papas, I'll know my work is done. In the meantime, I've got a soapbox to mount.
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