This is sort of advice and sort of just a PSA: Tights aren’t pants.
It seems like somewhere along the line it became fashionable to wear workout gear for all occasions. I get it; you want people to know you go to the gym, and you’re just too busy to dip into the locker room and change into regular clothes. I can (begrudg- ingly) accept yoga pants. At least they’re not pajamas.
What I don’t get is wearing leggings—which are just thick footless tights meant to be worn under a short dress—as though they are actually hiding your nethers. Every time you bend at the waist that fabric stretches into what amounts to a tinted window. That’s right, all those daily activities you enjoy so much: sitting in a chair, riding your bike, bending over to tie your shoe or look at that jar of spaghetti sauce on the bottom shelf… all of those casual delights you indulge in on the daily are giving the world a clear view of your buttcrack.
We all know you aren’t wearing panties to avoid a pantyline (because we can see you’re not wearing them), but perhaps you should consider that if the fabric is so tight and thin that a pantyline would show, maybe they aren’t thick enough to be pants.
Perhaps you should consider that because of the aforementioned reason, you’re having to wash said-leggings every time you wear them—a horrible waste of water in comparison to the efficiency of washing regular underthings—and in this time of drought you are doing a disservice to both the environment, and the farmers who feed America.
Perhaps you should consider, while you ride along the side of the busy street, that your visible buttcrack could be causing mothers to flail wildly in an attempt to cover their teenage son’s hormonal eyes, losing control of their vehicles behind you and careening into oncoming traffic—resulting in permanent injury or even death—while you blissfully round the bend on your way to Legging World, or wherever it is you’re going (Leggings Leggings Leggings? Legging Emporium?).
Is the $10 you saved when choosing that folded and wrapped packet hanging next to the socks (rather than venturing into the clothing aisles where stretchy jeans and yoga pants wait patiently, offering all the comfort and sex appeal with none of the trashy side effects) worth the life of a human child? Is it worth the fallow fields with destitute farmers gazing sullenly at the bleak horizon, à la every depression-era photograph ever? Is it worth the extinction of the salmon that rely on the rivers and streams you drain with your excessive laundering?
What kind of a monster are you that you haven’t stopped reading this column yet to go burn every pair you own? Maybe you’re looking for some kind of redemption; some kind words about how I understand you already invested all your money in stock for legging futures, and that your family’s survival depends on you supporting the retail market for these atrocities in every way you can. Well, it’s not happening.
Something needs to give, or we’re all in for a dystopian future.