I Hate Leggings

I have to reveal the truth, and I have to shock you all with my confession: I hate leggings.

The pose of fear.

In the 2010s, when leggings re-emerged as a trendy, soft alternative to the skinny jean, I was delighted. I had fond memories of wearing them as a child, and I was, as I still am, a major fan of all things elasticated. Sizing didn't have to matter as much, buttons and zips didn't have to be dealt with, I no longer had to suffer that thing that happens with bunched-up fabric at the crotch of many trousers, and relatively low-cut waists didn't threaten ass exposure quite as much with the steadfast body-hugging qualities of the legging waist. Many problems solved.

They are: ugly.

There were, of course, issues that took the place of all those trouser tribulations. The worst of them was the scourge of entirely see-through leggings produced by companies that I can only only conclude hate and want to humiliate woman - many of us didn't know we were showing full moon because we hadn't inspected our cheeks under full daylight while doing squats, because none of us knew we had to do stuff like that, and so the tiresome online debate leaked into our lives: are leggings pants? The answer is and always was yes, leggings were sold and used as trousers, that was the entire point, they were just also shit. The people were incensed. It was a hard time. But I think the leggings-wearers suffered more than the leggings-onlookers.

She's crazy for this.

At this point, leggings have massively replaced jeans as the go-to thing to wear in many areas. We have flared ones now (which I admit tempt me - I am remembering dragging my flared trousers through muddy puddles in 2006 or so, and I yearn for that filth), and we have the sort of fitness influencer world no-one could've predicted. Sports bras and other athleisure is everywhere, and it frightens me. Scrunch-butt leggings? No thanks, I'll just take the big cartoon suicide pill.

I will not fall for this.

This sort of overwhelming market saturation has lead to something of a sartorial fatigue in that leggings are the slobwear of choice, and so it's reached a point where just putting on some jeans can make you feel a bit put together. What was the height of casual now feels like a slight step above. I don't think I ever really used to notice if everyone was dressed just like me, but now I feel slobbish and boring in leggings. Maybe it's an age thing. If I was fifteen I would probably feel normal and cool in leggings, but I'm an adult and there's a vague sense of uncoolness that begins to pervade the doomed adult body. I am simply another bland woman in a Sainsbury's, and that's fine, but nevertheless there is something of an aspirational need to wear anything but leggings while I pick out my favourite two-pack of avocados.

Normal picture of me in my unassuming, nondescript outfit.

Mostly, though, my hatred for leggings comes directly from the feel of them. People used to say stuff like "leggings are so soft" and "my leggings are so comfortable". I remember this, and I used to feel it too. I used to feel relaxed and flexible in those things. But now I just feel vaguely constricted. I feel my temperature being trapped in the slightly too hot range, and I feel a prickling itch, always. It's severe enough that if I do wear leggings out, I'm undoubtedly ripping them off the second I get home. I can't do this anymore.

Not so with tights. I love tights. They don't make me feel itchy.

In the cemetery with tights on. Thank God.

Maybe it's just my leggings. Maybe something in their makeup is all wrong for little old me. Maybe different leggings would please and delight me. But I'm committed to my hatred at this stage. Leggings and I are over. I'll wear my single remaining pair until they spontaneously crumble into a fine dust, and then I will cheer and screech with joy forever. No more leggings. Set the legs free.

Freeing my legs in Seoul, April 2025.