In defense of leggings: Why comfort is all it’s cracked up to be
I hope this isn’t too much information, but I am pants-less right now. I am wearing glorified tights. I am Homer Simpson, yelling at anybody who will listen, and asking them, “Don’t you hate pants?”
I don’t, but I love leggings. And thankfully, I’m not alone.
On the Fall 2014 runway, we saw leggings in collections by Chanel, Louis Vuitton, Dolce & Gabbana, Issey Miyake and even Marc Jacobs, while chains like H&M and even American Eagle (they’ve stepped up their game, guys) have offered cotton alternatives in floral prints and with leather embellished. Yes, friends, it’s a wonderful time to be alive, especially if you’re planning on spending a good part of the next couple of months wearing stretchy pants and giant shirts.
Does this sound lazy? Absolutely. But when you think about it, it’s not so much about the pieces themselves than what you do with them. When leggings re-introduced themselves in the mid-to-late 2000s, I was averse—nay, I was appalled. Appalled that some women dare treat leggings like pants while I, the maker of imaginary style rules, sat smugly in jeans.
“Leggings aren’t pants!” I tweeted to the approval of my 49 followers. “Ugh!”
“Ugh” was the appropriate reaction, but more towards my idea of bullshit fashion dos and/or don’ts that made me dictate what was acceptable for women to feel comfortable in. To wear leggings as pants is actually pretty brave. It’s an in-your-face way of saying, “F*ck your denim, I want to stretch.” (And/or also: “I feel comfortable, and you can deal with that.”) At the time, I didn’t really feel comfortable in anything, but, as your early 20s tend to dictate, with age comes an innate sense of maturity.
Just joking. But you start getting so busy you really don’t care what people think.
I started wearing leggings because I had new boots that wouldn’t fit over my jeans. (If you’re looking to option the movie rights to that wicked story, be my guest.) So, long before American Eagle sold them, and because I worked across from H&M, I walked from AE to the Swedish dynasty on my lunch break like a traitor and indulged what soon became my $6.95 obsession.
“I need them,” I explained to my Mom one night, after being caught bringing home another pair (bought via my student loan, thank you). “They’re my uniform.”
Surprisingly, I wasn’t immediately disowned from the family for sounding like an idiot, but I soon earned a reputation amongst my pals for my refusal to wear pants at all. I was a leggings-or-nothing woman. I didn’t want to show off my ass, but I started taking risks with footwear, skirt lengths, and even belted oversize men’s plaids. (See: my descent into the thrift world, of which I have yet to emerge.) Leggings were letting me try on pieces I’d been afraid of a few months before. And I could eat as much lunch as I wanted and not fear the bloat.
My love has dwindled since the 2008 enlightenment (that is absolutely what the show starring Laura Dern was about, by the way), but I will say there’s still absolutely a place for comfort in fashion, at least in my closet. But it’s not just me: as I mentioned at the start, real, live, actual designers are sanctioning pieces that are wearable and cozy. Do you hear me, world? You can still be cozy while still being “on point.”
Like with all pieces, it’s not like leggings will make or break you or your look. Leggings are one piece, and you can use them to create any ensemble you want. It-pieces (though something that’s been around for six years is here to stay, no?) only become a problem when you rule them out or dismiss them entirely. If you don’t want to wear something, don’t. But if that’s how you feel, somebody’s choice to wear or a designer’s choice to create something shouldn’t be affected by those standards. After all, who the hell was I to say leggings weren’t pants? Who am I even to say what pants are now?
In the words of Julia Roberts in Notting Hill, I’m just a girl, standing in front of the Internet, asking it to admit they like leggings. Because I’m sure that if she and any other movie character substituted their pants for that unique mix of spandex and cotton, every movie would consist only of characters saying, “Man, look how high I can kick!”
![](http://www.facebook.com/sharer.php?u=https://fashionmagazine.com/style/in-defense-of-leggings/&title=In defense of leggings: Why comfort is all it’s cracked up to be&picture=https://fashionmagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/10/Leggings-Iggy-Azealea.jpg&description=[caption id="attachment_198932" align="aligncenter" width="500"] Photography by Jason Carter Rinaldi/Getty Images[/caption]
I hope this isn’t too much information, but I am pants-less right now. I am wearing glorified tights. I am Homer Simpson, yelling at anybody who will listen, and asking them, “Don’t you hate pants?”
I don’t, but I love leggings. And thankfully, I’m not alone.
On the Fall 2014 runway, we saw leggings in collections by Chanel, Louis Vuitton, Dolce & Gabbana, Issey Miyake and even Marc Jacobs, while chains like H&M and even American Eagle (they’ve stepped up their game, guys) have offered cotton alternatives in floral prints and with leather embellished. Yes, friends, it’s a wonderful time to be alive, especially if you’re planning on spending a good part of the next couple of months wearing stretchy pants and giant shirts.
Does this sound lazy? Absolutely. But when you think about it, it’s not so much about the pieces themselves than what you do with them. When leggings re-introduced themselves in the mid-to-late 2000s, I was averse---nay, I was appalled. Appalled that some women dare treat leggings like pants while I, the maker of imaginary style rules, sat smugly in jeans.
“Leggings aren’t pants!” I tweeted to the approval of my 49 followers. “Ugh!”
“Ugh” was the appropriate reaction, but more towards my idea of bullshit fashion dos and/or don’ts that made me dictate what was acceptable for women to feel comfortable in. To wear leggings as pants is actually pretty brave. It’s an in-your-face way of saying, “F*ck your denim, I want to stretch.” (And/or also: “I feel comfortable, and you can deal with that.”) At the time, I didn’t really feel comfortable in anything, but, as your early 20s tend to dictate, with age comes an innate sense of maturity.
Just joking. But you start getting so busy you really don’t care what people think.
I started wearing leggings because I had new boots that wouldn’t fit over my jeans. (If you’re looking to option the movie rights to that wicked story, be my guest.) So, long before American Eagle sold them, and because I worked across from H&M, I walked from AE to the Swedish dynasty on my lunch break like a traitor and indulged what soon became my $6.95 obsession.
“I need them,” I explained to my Mom one night, after being caught bringing home another pair (bought via my student loan, thank you). “They’re my uniform.”
Surprisingly, I wasn’t immediately disowned from the family for sounding like an idiot, but I soon earned a reputation amongst my pals for my refusal to wear pants at all. I was a leggings-or-nothing woman. I didn’t want to show off my ass, but I started taking risks with footwear, skirt lengths, and even belted oversize men’s plaids. (See: my descent into the thrift world, of which I have yet to emerge.) Leggings were letting me try on pieces I’d been afraid of a few months before. And I could eat as much lunch as I wanted and not fear the bloat.
My love has dwindled since the 2008 enlightenment (that is absolutely what the show starring Laura Dern was about, by the way), but I will say there’s still absolutely a place for comfort in fashion, at least in my closet. But it’s not just me: as I mentioned at the start, real, live, actual designers are sanctioning pieces that are wearable and cozy. Do you hear me, world? You can still be cozy while still being “on point.”
Like with all pieces, it’s not like leggings will make or break you or your look. Leggings are one piece, and you can use them to create any ensemble you want. It-pieces (though something that’s been around for six years is here to stay, no?) only become a problem when you rule them out or dismiss them entirely. If you don’t want to wear something, don’t. But if that’s how you feel, somebody’s choice to wear or a designer’s choice to create something shouldn’t be affected by those standards. After all, who the hell was I to say leggings weren’t pants? Who am I even to say what pants are now?
In the words of Julia Roberts in Notting Hill, I’m just a girl, standing in front of the Internet, asking it to admit they like leggings. Because I’m sure that if she and any other movie character substituted their pants for that unique mix of spandex and cotton, every movie would consist only of characters saying, “Man, look how high I can kick!”){kind=link}