Recently I tried wearing joggers. The real kind of chavvy joggers, not the Stella McCartney, Alexander Wang kind, the kind that I used to wear to the gym every day.
Recently I tried wearing joggers. The real kind of chavvy joggers, not the Stella McCartney, Alexander Wang kind, the kind that I used to wear to the gym every day. The ones that were elasticized around my waist, baggy at my knees and black and white in colour. The ones with those torturous stripes down the side.
A few years ago joggers were the trousers I associated with slobbish relaxation. If I felt tired out came the joggers and in came my sleepiness. I’d sit for hours studying at the table, hanging off the sofa, running (more of a power walk really) round fields with my boyfriend’s dog at my feet, and my joggers were what I did it in. I didn’t care about wearing them because to me they were comfy, an escape from the real world of tight jeans and overhanging hip fat.
My problem is, or my wonderful realisation, which ever you may wish to call it, is that I now realise how shockingly unflattering these trousers are. Yes, they emphasize my hourglass curves quite nicely, but Jesus do they add fifty pounds to my thighs. As I ran to the kitchen yesterday to make a quick cup of tea, I couldn’t tell if I was wearing my own trousers or Aladdin’s.
After 2 years of lying dormant in the back of my wardrobe, I popped the said trousers on recently in some kind of vain hope that I would find them as wonderful as I ever did, that they would fill me with the same level of slobbish comfort that I had once experienced. But they didn’t. They made me feel horrifically unfeminine, unconfident, and if I’m honest, like I had lost everything I had learnt about my shape over the last two years. (And the 2 stone, boy did they encourage some kind of instant weight gain as soon as I slipped them on.)
I never wore my joggers for the chavvy reasons of thinking they were ‘sick’, or because they’d go well with a hoody and a balaclava, I just had them because they were comfy, and admittedly, I was fat. They were a visual armory hiding me from the unsympathetic eyes of skinny people. But putting them on last week was a good thing for me to do, especially as I’ve now trimmed down. (A lot.) It gave me the reality check that I needed, that 100% polyester and a shell lining is not for me.
So, without much ado, I am writing this to say farewell. You know they say you should never go back to an old love? Well, I think it’s safe to say the same can be said towards these trousers.
Good-bye Adidas joggers. It was nice whilst it lasted, but we were never meant to be
