Y The Large Pants?

Kylie+Kendall+get+limo+ride+pick+up+Greek+J6Lj0-jo-BvlRecently I’ve been partial to looser fitting trousers. Revolted by any pair of trousers that show the shape of my leg and or thigh, I’ve returned to the era of 70’s shabby chic – kind of.

I can’t quite explain how or even when I made the switch, or rather the best decision of my life, but I did. I never knew the comfort that came with baggy trousers until late last year. And ever since, I’ve been unable to feel comfortable in tight trousers showing off my leg, thigh and backside area. To be frank, skinny jeans are a very last resort.

The other day – late as per usual – I waltzed into work in a new pair of trousers costing a whopping £7, I broke the bank. Channeling a 70’s goddess, I was of course playing to my inner Alexa only to be bombarded with questions and comment on my new (and incredibly comfortable) pantaloons. The general jist being:

  • “Where did you get those from?”
  • “Bit long aren’t they?”
  • “Stand up let me get a better look”
  • “Loz, you look well tall in those”

Granted my trouser ratio has expanded over the past few months, that I admit. I’ve shifted further and further from the skinny jean, and shudder at the thought of ever wearing those kinds of pants. Palazzo, Flare, Culottes or MOM jeans you name it, I’m probably sipping my tea comfortably in any of the aforementioned. I can’t quite explain what’s come over me recently, I just feel far more comfortable in trousers that don’t show the entire world the shape of my knee caps. A co-worker mentioned that she’d never really seen my legs on the one day I was forced to wear jeans. It was of course wash day and everything black that I owned – so, everything I owned – was being cleansed for further use. It’s impossible to explain how much I wished the shy away from having my legs exposed through material that day, not an oversized shirt in sight – the horror!

My mother recently mentioned that I’d been dressing more and more like a thrift store junkie, which of course is correct. But trailer yard chic is the new thing ma, don’t you see. Regularly kitted in anything furry, flared and or three times the size of me, I’ll accept the roll of shabby-it’s-unlikely-to-be-chic. Needless to say, I much prefer to look as though I’m drowning in my clothing than anything even remotely fitting.

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