The Fabulous World of Mom Jeans

I'm talking about the motherload here folks. There are racks inside these thrift stores that are just oozing with creature comforts like mom jeans. There are rows and rows of them-all types of sizes, and God knows how many color choices. All waiting for someone to take them out of that store and make them a part of their wardrobe. That's where I come in. I wanted to give them a good home so I bought some.
Why?
Because when I saw that my husband consistently wore "dad jeans" without a care in the world I knew that it was time to break free (in private and without public scrutiny) of my binds that kept me free from being comfortable.
Okay so we revolted against high heels--for a while anyway. We walked or drove to work in our fashionable business attire but our feet were adorned in sneakers. At work we tucked our high heels under our desks and pulled out a nice pair of running shoes smiling as we slipped them on. And yet we refuse to wear mom jeans even though we know how comfortable and practical they can be.
However I went there because I wanted the mom jeans that I had previously discarded and given away. I just wanted a few pairs of pants nothing more.

I had to escape and do what no sensible thirty something mother would ever dream of doing. I had to get some mom jeans. I had to be free if only to stroll around my house, backyard and walk to the mailbox and back. I tried to wear the cute pants to do my rituals such as playing with the kids, house cleaning, yard work, and everything in between but it didn't work.
I could've bought some regular jeans at the department store but at a whopping $1.25 a pair I knew I couldn't go wrong with these hideous pants.I just didn't want to ruin my nicer jeans. Nope not me. Pre-motherhood I would go out and buy jeans ranging anywhere between $50 and $200 dollars a pair. These weren't the type of jeans I wanted to wear when I was home and doing messy stuff like painting and rolling around in the yard with my kids.
I became tired of feeling uncomfortable at home with my ass being smooshed in a pair of cute stretchy hip hugging, flared leg denims, and a kicky belt with diamond studs wrapped around my waist and stomach which has now developed quite a paunch. I became tired of taking time to choose my underwear so that I didn't have a t-bar crossing the back of my butt or a pair of regular panties showing from the backside. I wanted to just dig in my drawer and pull out a pair of big bloomers that said I just want to relax today and then get out a pair of some high waist, stone washed, baggy in the front and back pair of mom jeans.
I've learned to deal with this duality quite well. It's almost like Clark Kent and Superman. When I'm out and about I'm Mrs. Trendy Jeans but on my time I'm Mrs. Mom Jeans. This works out for me just fine. However there have been times when I have forgotten to change into my Mrs. Trendy pants and to save time I have worn mom jeans in public. I get these questioning looks that say, "Haven't those jeans been banned for life?"
I laugh thinking of the first time I took those pants out of that thrift store bag and my husband said, "Now you're bringing contraband in the house?"
The United Nations have not sanctioned them. But you would think they did.
The weird thing is I haven't seen this much of an uproar about Dad Jeans.
You know the jeans men wear when they stop being fashionable and start being real.

Mom Jeans Flatter No Body
No Ifs, Ands or Butts About It

By Jill Hudson Neal
Special to washingtonpost.com
Monday, October 16, 2006; 8:01 AM

I have recently developed an unhealthy obsession with eBay and denim.

I've stayed away from eBay for years fearing something like this would happen, but okay, whatever. Last week, I bought three pairs of designer jeans within 72 hours. I know, I know, there's a possibility that they might be counterfeit, but it's a risk I'm willing to take. I was able to justify this shopping spree by noting that the winning prices for the Joe's Jeans ($158 at Nordstrom) and Earnest Sewn ($190 at earnestsewn.com) pairs were at least 65% lower than retail. Plus, a friend who's a fashion stylist promised that they'd all make my butt look at least 30% smaller. Hooray! Long math was never my strong suit, mind you, but you've got to admit those are very good-looking percentage points. And since I wear jeans nearly every day and hate nearly every pair I own, it was money well spent.

Like most women, my relationship with denim is tortured, bordering on the obsessive/compulsive. I hate shopping for them, loathe trying them on and yet, a well-stocked denim department like those at Target, Old Navy and Saks Fifth Avenue makes my palms sweaty with longing. By my calculations -- again, I'm no Rainman -- I've probably spent the rough equivalent of the cost of a used Geo Prism trying to find the perfect pair of jeans. I've certainly owned my share of real howlers: acid-washed and cropped (junior year in high school), stone-washed and torn at the knee (freshman year of college), tapered leg (the three long years as a reporter at The Baltimore Sun), you-should-know-better tight (no comment) and just plain large (the dark days between babies).

And judging by a recent Saturday afternoon jaunt to the teeming food court in Tysons Corner Center, I'm not alone in my addiction to jeans. If there was ever a doubt that denim is the main staple of the American wardrobe, a stroll through this mall -- or any around the country -- will quickly disavow that notion. Nearly every single man, woman and child in there was clad in some kind of denim, and friends, some of it was not pretty. There were dads wearing jean shorts with leather belts (ideal for cell phone hangage); packs of teenage girls wearing some version of a skin tight low-rise style that left them with rings of muffin-top waist fat; and young 20-something guys clad in baggy-butt and torn denim pants. I also saw lots of really cute women there, too, many of them pushing baby strollers and chasing squirming toddlers, styling and profiling in their well-cut, well-fitting youthful jeans. Many of them had on sneakers and simple T-shirts; some wore heels and fitted tops.

Then, there were the Women Wearing Mom Jeans. The term "mom jeans" was introduced a few years ago as part of hilarious fictitious "Saturday Night Live" commercial with an unforgettable tag line: "This Mother's Day, don't give Mom that bottle of perfume. Give her something that says, 'I'm not a woman anymore. I'm a mom!' " It poked fun at mothers who wear the matronly jeans that immediately typecast them as being women who're hopelessly out of touch with fashion trends (at best) and sexually repressed (at worst). Women who wear mom jeans can be found everywhere: waiting for a latte at Starbucks, perched atop teensy chairs at parent-teacher meetings, running errands at Home Depot, Olive Garden.

To be fair -- and before the angry e-mails start rolling in -- mom jeans serve a purpose for a very particular type of woman. The denim is made of soft, washable cotton, so the jeans are very easy to care for. The styling and cut is often generous, especially in the pants leg, waist and tummy. The fit is comfortable, which is important for active moms with on-the-go children. And finally, most of the jeans are often very reasonably priced and can be found at retailers like Wal-Mart, Target, Kohl's and JC Penney. Women who buy them are practical and likely too busy to care that fashion editors and designers have declared that skinny jeans are a "must" for the fall season.

I hear all that and I get it. But the problem is that mom jeans flatter almost no one. Though they were ostensibly designed to compliment a real woman's fuller figure, the reality is that most of them make an average wearer's behind, hips and stomach look...well, big. Every mom I know (including this one) wants to dress to minimize the cruel effects of multiple pregnancies, weight gain and the natural changes in your body that come with age. But dude, come on! If the zipper on your jeans is the same length as that People magazine you're reading in the grocery store check out aisle, you're probably losing the camouflage fight. And if the back pockets are the size of an IHOP pancake and are situated on the fleshy part between the waist and the bottom of the booty, they should have no place in your closet.

So why are so many women holding on to those tired mom jeans, thereby banishing any chance of looking like a cool mom? Many are resistant to change and prefer to keep the same style they've always had -- and one that doesn't set them too far apart from their family, friends and neighbors. Some are mindful that many of the low-rise jeans they see on non-moms aren't practical or sophisticated enough to reach from the playground to the office in the course of one day. And still others are militantly opposed to being told that they need to pay $100 and more for expensive designer jeans from hip brands like True Religion, Acme and Citizens for Humanity.

But, says Pilar Guzman, editor-in-chief of Cookie, Conde Nast's glossy lifestyle parenting magazine, price shouldn't be the sole deciding factor, especially because "at every price point, there's something that's hip, that isn't the Eddie Bauer gaucho jean. The Gap makes great jeans that have stretch in them for under $100. And living out in the boondocks is no longer an excuse because you can get anything you want on the Internet. I'm convinced that there's no body that can't find a pair of jeans that could work. I've seen every body type look good in jeans."

The mom jeans phenomenon, Guzman says, "encapsulates what happens to some women when they become parents. For many women, there's also this idea that dressing in a way that's obviously figure flattering or youthful is unbecoming to a mother. There's something insidious in this culture that suggests this. That's the thing that (author) Judith Warner captured in 'Perfect Madness,' and that other writers are picking up on. There's that message that if you're not martyring yourself, and that extends to your physical appearance, then you're not doing your job as a parent.

"You have to decide to hold on to that part of yourself that was there before you had kids," she says. "It gets harder and harder to do because your time is limited. It requires more of an effort. But you're either in that mindset of making the effort, which is more about how you see yourself, or you're not."

So deciding to ditch the sad sack mommy pants is the first step to recovery. Head out to a newsstand and thumb through a few fashion or celebrity magazines for some ideas on what's au courant in the world of denim. Steal a couple of hours away from the kids and head to your favorite store. Commit yourself to trying on as many pairs as it takes to find the pair that make you feel like you did in the years B.C. (before children). I'll continue my march along the Holy Denim Grail and I'll fire up a torch if I find 'em. In the meantime, where is that postman with my eBay box?

I understood this article when I read it...and all the articles before and after this one. However, but I wonder why is it has become this big deal. I can't understand why mom jeans are one of the most hated pieces of clothing in a woman's closet. Although I acknowledge that they are hideous. But back to my original point why hasn't this hatred been applied to Dad Jeans? We all know what they look like. They're the jeans that seem to slide down under a man's belly and somehow wrap around the middle of a man's ass. But then they're men. They can wear Dad Jeans and get away with it. So I will continue to wear my Mom Jeans in private of course and enjoy refuge until there's another day or night out on the town.