An Ode To Leggings
Top and bottom: Alala and Strut-This from Revolve, Shoes: Reebok Women, Cap: Thrifted, originally from Witchery (!)
Images of Ned Flanders shaking his ass and saying, ‘nothing at all! nothing at all!’. Flashes of superheroes blasting off into the air. Bright pink legs flailing to an 80s aerobic exercise video. These are all things that go through my head when I’m wearing legs, and above all: a prevailing sense of freedom.
Freedom to do what I want, to pop a weird squat in the airplane bathroom because I can, to flail my legs about and revel in the range of motion I’m afforded. Jeans can’t give you this. Shorts can’t give you this. Only leggings can.
I’m sure we’re far past the ‘leggings aren’t pants’ witch-hunting phase – ‘athleisure’ isn’t a trend anymore, and I challenge you to walk down a New York street without seeing someone in leggings. Leggings are pervasive, and there’s no choice but to succumb to the delights of wearing some type of spandex to encase your bum.
It’s not just for one type of person, either. I’ve seen leggings worn by punk kids, by old ladies, by elegant women walking their dogs with Repetto flats. Leggings are universal, and we’re all united by the outrageous comfort they provide. The only time I’ve been uncomfortable while wearing leggings is when I’ve been stupid and bought the wrong leggings. The right leggings aren’t hard to find, they make your lower half look fantastic and cannot be beat for long-haul flights.
And to those who say that leggings are inappropriate for public use: all you gotta do is wear printed leggings, and the attention is automatically off your body because it’s way too confusing to distinguish where flesh begins and CRAZY RAINBOW CAMOFLAUGE ends.