Skinny jeans

Me, age 39

My friends tell me that their pre-teen daughters are pitiless when it comes to dishing out unsolicited fashion advice.

Caroline and Jane, my nine-year-old twins, haven’t started tearing apart my wardrobe, but I’m bracing myself for the day it begins. I anticipate that their input will be brutal.

My friend Jody, for instance, says, “I have an 11-year-old, but her attitude at times is more like that of a 15-year-old. She goes from being my sweet little girl to a scary person I don’t even know.” Jody explains that her daughter’s most common critiques of her outfits are, “Um, NO, Mom,” and “That looks too old lady.”

Amy’s daughter is 10. She’s been giving Amy grief all summer, asking her, “Mom, why do you always wear jogging shorts and a T-shirt?” Amy, bewildered, responds, “Because it’s hot outside and I’m spending the day picking raspberries?!”

Mari says that her 12-year-old often tells her, “Mom, your boobies are showing too much.” But, paradoxically, she’ll also complain that Mari’s work outfits are totally boring.

Sara, whose daughter is only eight, says that she’s already started offering suggestions about her style. “She says things to me like, ‘I’m not sure I like that necklace with that top,’ or ‘You should wear this dress instead of the one you have on.'”     

I’m quaking in my cute little ballet flats (which I swear are cool) as I imagine the criticism I’ll receive in the not-so-distant future. But in the meantime, I’m doing just fine when it comes to getting dressed, thank you very much! In fact, striving to be “on-trend” (as they say on Fashion Police), I’ve decided to give skinny jeans a try.

Skinny jeans are a stretch, figuratively and literally speaking, for someone as short and roundly-assed as I am. I always gravitate to boot-cuts or flares because they create the illusion that I’m taller and more proportioned than I really am, whereas skinnies make me look like an inverted triangle in a profoundly unflattering way.

However, I recently found a decent pair of skinny jeans that I think look all right on me. I feel a bit hippy – OK, a lot hippy – but I’ve summoned every shred of self-confidence to wear them for my sister’s birthday party tonight.

With apprehension, I ask my daughters for their feedback. To my delight, they actually approve of the skinnies! They tell me I look awesome. I’m glowing; I feel like a million bucks.     

As I head for the door, eager to depart for the evening, I encounter my six-year-old, Owen. He eyes my new jeans and leans in for a hug. As I kiss his sweet head and tell him goodbye, he starts rubbing my thighs.

“Um, buddy, what are you doing?” I ask.

With his response, Owen single-handedly demolishes all of my poise and assurance while revealing that he might be my toughest fashion critic after all.

“Mmmmmm,” he says, oddly enraptured by my ample curves. “I love your legs, Mommy. They look so fat in those jeans.”