In defence of sweatpants




I’ve recently been reminded of this quote by I-want-to-marry-my-cat Karl Largerfeld. And you know what, Karl buddy guy? You’ve clearly never put on a sweatpants. I’ve never owned a pair, until I recently bought two pairs of ‘comfort’ (glorified PJ pants) from Cotton On, and man, were they a life affirming purchase.

  • Sweatpants are socially acceptable PJ pants. I’ve been the girl who wore PJ pants to Cavendish (it’s part of what charmed my bestie into loving me). But, now that I’m no longer 16, I save the PJ wearing from my flat (and maybe, like once, going to BP for midnight chocolate). Sweatpants are the next best thing to going out in your jammies on those days you’re feeling all ‘Fuck society’s expectation of normality and feminine beauty standards’ or as I like to call it, Sunday.
  • Lost control of my life? No, I have firm control of my life. I just don’t have firm control of my chocolate eating habit and the wiggle in my middle. And spanx are modern era’s answer to the Victorian torture of whale bone corsets.
  • I think ‘a sign of defeat’ is a pretty strong phrase here. A sign of a love of soft cotton against my legs that I forgot to shave yet again; a sign of ‘fuck skinny jeans, I’m having a fat day’; a sign that I live in Cape Town and don’t want to clutch my skirt in case it blows up and I flash some strangers (again); and, most important, a sign my washing machine defeated me and I’ve yet to do laundry.



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