Glamatron

After hiding out this week, Inanna’s post on cropped pants has spurred me into action–they’re the junk food of my wardrobe–I know they’re bad for me and yet I own three pairs.

When cropped pants showed up a while back, my head and heart were completely clear on the matter. Anything that cuts the line of your leg in half and makes you look shorter and squatter was a no-go. Cropped pants were one of those gung-ho fashion challenges in my opinion. One of those things you wore to show that you were so spectacular looking that you even looked good in cropped pants.

A fad I thought as I looked at my astonishing vast hips in the dressing room of the Gap, noting that the truncation of my legs by the cropped pants was balanced by the broadening of my hips by the lowcut waist.

And so I ignored cropped pants. And ignored them. And ignored them. But they didn’t go away. And they were being worn by, well, most of the women I knew. What was going on?

It was in Anthropologie I succumbed. It was a sort of interesting pair, the product of a mating between knickerbockers and cargo pants. The waist line curved. Plus, they were a smaller size than I normally wore–Pilates or vanity sizing, I didn’t know, but I gave in.

Then I went to Las Vegas with my cropped pants. And in the 105 degree heat, I learned the terrible truth–the damn things were comfortable–more versatile than shorts, better protection from chafing than skirts and cooler than pants. No wonder my fellow matrons wore them–they were useful. About as useful as anything I owned.

So much so, that I tried to convince myself that they weren’t really that bad looking. I coordinated and bought carefully. I made sure my shoes extended the line of my leg . . . and, yet, some recent photos . . . well, let’s just say it’s a good look if you’re auditioning for the mother of the Seven Dwarves.