for the love of leather leggings.

A month or two ago, an advertisement that looked something like this kept filtering through my Facebook page every couple of days:


And after seeing the lithe, size-0 models stretch their leather-clad hammies day after day, I had to make known to the world that not all who boast an XX chromosome choose to rock the high waist faux leather leggings.

So I shared the picture, with the following caption:

“Just in case you’re wondering, I WILL NEVER SPORT these “look at me, I’m Sandra Dee,” high waist faux leather leggings. That would rank high on the list of Cara’s worst fashion decisions ever, right next to the sailor dress I scotch-taped six inches higher in the 7th grade to pull off a look reminiscent of DJ Tanner. But you? Be my guest.”

But for the omniscient trolls of Facebook, that decision was an obvious mistake – because I am now seeing my leather-bound friends every tiresome time I log in, as evidenced by this status update:

“Just in case you’re wondering about High Waist Faux Leather Leggings, the second you share the picture saying YOU’LL NEVER, EVER WEAR THOSE IN YOUR WHOLE SANDRA DEE LIFE, you’ll continue to see this advertisement for the rest of your Facebook days. True story.”

The originator herself, rocking those leather leggings.
The originator herself, rocking those leather leggings.

I know, first-world problems.

Now, don’t get me wrong: there’s a part of me that secretly wants to rock the leather leggings.  It sits on the shelf next to the Me who’d also like to win America’s Got Talent, and the Me who sing-songs “I wanna be a supermodel!” begging for a second chance, and the Me who wants the Writer Life handed to her on a silver platter, without her having to do a lick about it.  You mean I actually need to practice the craft of writing, and WRITE regularly in order to someday publish a book?  Ugh.  

But then I look down at my lyrca-clad yoga-pants wearing legs, and if I squint my eyes just enough, the similarities are remarkable.  High waist? Check. Thigh-tight? Done. Black? Bam. And – bonus! – I own a sports bra. Hand me my four-inch stilettos and matching crop top now – mama’s gonna rock this joint!

I hope they let me into the club.

Until next time,

Cara “I really, really hope Santa gets me these babies for Christmas” Meredith.

What about you?  Is there a trend that haunts you?  But, more importantly, how much would you pay to see me in a pair of these?  Let’s start a campaign!

Mama’s Losin’ It

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