I won’t lie. I still own a few pair of Juicy sweatpants. And yes, I still wear them. (I also still have a strapless, rhinestone-studded tiger-print Ed Hardy dress SWEAR TO GOD THAT SAYS ED HARDY ACROSS THE FRONT IN GIANT SCRIPT, but that one’s too good for a random Thursday, so I’m saving it for a holiday post OH MY GOD DO YOU SEE HOW MY BRAIN WORKS? If you’re a therapist, call me!) But I have one pair in particular I think we can all agree needs to be retired.
Back in the day (not quite the nineteen hundreds* but close) I did buy these at the overpriced Juicy Outlet, as opposed to the obscenely-overpriced Juicy Couture Store, so maybe they were defective? Surely they didn’t intentionally design these pants to sit so low that you legitimately cannot wear underpants with them (and if you chose that route you’d need to schedule a full Brazilian wax every time you wanted to wear them)?
For the record, nothing about these photos is staged. I did not tug the pants down or hike the chonies up for effect. When I sit in these pants, and sometimes I get that crazy urge, they basically become assless chaps. I will not be posting that photo.
Plus they drag on the ground (apparently the fit models at Juicy are all 7’6″ or taller), the drawstring is only for effect so you can make them exactly three-quarters of an inch tighter, and they’re more of a terrycloth than a velvet so they’re not even soft.
This is actually getting easier and easier! See you guys tomorrow, when I’m trying to decide if I should ditch the bondage-style club dress or the cashmere wrap sweater with moth-bites in the shoulder.
*My kid actually said this to me one day: “Mom, was it cool being alive in the nineteen hundreds?” (Me: “Yeah, pterodactyls were the best. I miss those guys.”)