I bought wide legged pants from Lane Bryant, and the thins love them.
What fat hasn’t been waiting their entire life for this moment? The chance to turn to a regular ol’ size eight and be like, babe, eat a cookie and then sashay right the fuck out the 7-11 with their Big Gulp body and wide ass pants like it’s Drag Race.
I don’t know a one that hasn’t.
Let me break down these pants for you because they are a thing of beauty that flow like ocean waves with each stride. They’re soft like clouds with an elastic waist for days in an eggplant purple that match every skin tone but not every size. Technically we’re talking the smallest you can be for this glory is an eighteen.
Here’s a photo of these pants that shine like fat justice:
These things were made for fats to show off their babe-ness in comfort with exactly zero promise of athleisure — an oxymoron of thinness if there ever was one. How do you both “ath” and also “leiz?”
It’s one or the other motherfuckers.
NEVER BOTH.
Athleisure sounds like sleeping on a high school wrestling mat and then going ahead and accessorizing with ringworm. And then I guess the see-thru thigh panels are for ventilation cause it smells like cheesey balls fermenting in a sauna.
This is why I’m a fat. I think too much.
When you’re a thin you have options. You get to walk into store and be like, bless this abundance. There’s racks on racks on racks. Fashion square footage for thins doubles like this is the Wizarding World and they get to be Harry looking for a horcrux in Bellatrix’s Gringotts vault.
You know, chosen.
When you’re a fat babe, you get accessories. Maybe a hat. A pair of earrings. And somehow this fabric drought is supposed to sustain you in sustenance while your friends are RSVPing to every fashion forward thread Bangladesh exports.
But the thins are thirsty for these plum pants.
I’m gracious in spite, “Thank you, they’re from LANE BYRANT.”
I say it like I’m ALL CAPSing in real life ‘cause I want them to know there is no seat as this table.
Is it petty?
One hundred and ten percent, yes.
It’s an absofuckinglutely on the fucking lutely scale of HOW DOES IT FEEL.
As a fat, you gotta find your petty and grind it into a soft powder then sprinkle it like you swallowed Tinker Bell and out came Ursula with the realness.
Because Ariel is basic and the only thing that made the Little Mermaid worth seeing was that fat sea queen in her red lips and delicious brow arches almost bringing down patriarchy.
What was Ariel gonna do with that voice anyway? Stan for basic boy, Eric.
I mean C’MON.
So whatever you own that’s just for a fat, say it. And then let that smile spread like butter.
I absolutely adore this!!! Also I need those pants now!
They’re the best. GETTT IT.