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As a chronically short person who stands just shy of five foot, I put off shopping until the last possible moment. My jeans will have to have at least three holes in them before I consider trekking out to buy another pair, as while I know that jeans shopping is a nightmare for every man, woman, child or beast, I argue that the vertically challenged have it worst off.
For one, even jeans in the petite section of a shop are too long for me. Apparently, I’m super petite, as the general opinion is that women under 5”5 are petite and I can only dream of such heights. For another, when a pair of jeans are too long it doesn’t just mean rolling up the cuffs or persuading your grandma to take them up for you, the whole proportion of the legs are thrown off. The thighs of the jeans cover your knees, the calves never cover your leg at all and of course you’re left with that sticking out crease at the back that no belt can tame.
The point of jeans, at least women’s jeans, seems to be that they should be like a second skin or pair of form sculpting underwear that hold in some bits whilst accentuating others. For me, unfashionable disaster that I am, jeans should be a loose and casual mess that I barely notice as I walk along. I hate clothing that never lets me forget that I’m wearing it, and tight jeans are the worst for that.
Recently, I decided to be brave and stop wearing loose fitting clothes and go for something a bit more fitting. So, I bought a pair of skinny jeans and rolled up the legs as best I could to prove to the world that I’m not ashamed of my bum. And I’m really not. They’re ok, I suppose. The trouble is I can always feel them, the seams itching all the way up my admittedly short leg length, the cold air blasting through them when I walk down the street. Alright, I said that I don’t like feeling the clothes I’m wearing, but to feel absolutely no protection from them whatsoever? On the plus side, they squidge in my ‘fat’ tummy to make me really feel good about myself.
For my birthday, which is today, my mum has bought me some new jeans. I know because I was there when she bought them, as there sadly comes a point in your life when people don’t bother to surprise you with your birthday presents anymore. I’m mildly dreading them, as to honour the money my mother spent on them I’ll feel obliged to wear them, and the odds of them meeting every one of my particular criteria for jeans are pretty low. Just like me and my short legs.
