Please, please… will somebody tell me what the deal with Yoga pants is? In the spirit of full disclosure, anyone who read my article “Targeting Tension” knows that I have only a vague understanding of the allure of Yoga going into this, however, the legions of Lululemonites roaming the highways and byways of this great nation have left me confused and frankly deflated. What are you people trying to tell me with these pants? Are you telling me that you’re just doin’ a few quick errands – all day long – on your way to class? In full hair and make-up? Not so worried about clogged pores, are you? I guarantee behind whatever else you are saying with those pants you’re telling me how worthy you are… essentially, that you are more evolved than I am because you do Yoga. Am I right? Even if you look sufficiently serious about finally perfecting your corpse pose, meaning your hair is in a pencil and your face has nary a hint of tinted moisturizer on it, I bet if I followed you all day, you would never reach a manicured mit into the back of your Lexus SUV for your matt, nor would your ears hear one bang of a gong. Guess what? Trick or treat! The joke is on you…I’m not buyin’ what your pants are selling.
Now, I’m not an idiot. I get it – Yoga pants are comfortable. The fact that they come with the added benefits of spandex and legitimized smugness is merely a lucky coincidence. But people, comfort has its place. I happen to subscribe to one of the many laws of physics for the female my Mother taught me – beauty takes pain. Now, before I get trampled by angry feminists in their Dansko clogs, please consider the J.V. “pain” to which I refer. All I’m asking is, follow me here, for you to wear your glorified sweatpants only when working out . Then, throughout the balance of the day, wear other clothes from the appropriate category. They sell lots of cute things these days…all manner of denim, little dresses, knitwear, real pants and skirts to name just a few.
If I sound like a bitch well, maybe you need to hear it. If you want to feel good, shallow as it sounds, put a little effort into looking good. While you’re at it, please let your husband, life partner or walker know that no one wants to see him in his favorite cargo shorts at a restaurant – I hope I’m not asking for too much. Sorry, the truth hurts. This time it may certainly hurt in the form of some attractive, yet binding garments.