I’m gonna say this and if i’m wrong don’t correct me because i’ve built my entire identity on this fragile guess: i have no idea what pants sizes actually mean.
none.
they’re just little numbers i memorize from the one pair that kinda fits and then i chase that feeling for the rest of my life.
like you’ll see something that says “32×30” and somehow that’s supposed to translate into “your legs but in jean form.” but sometimes i try on a 32 and it fits like a hug and sometimes it fits like punishment. i once tried on a pair labeled the exact same size and it turned me into a sausage
don’t even get me started on the brands.
levi’s numbers mean something totally different than whatever war crime old navy is committing. it’s like every store just spins a wheel of fortune and slaps those numbers on with confidence. i bought a “relaxed fit” once and it was basically jeggings. who hurt you
what i really hate is when a store employee sees you struggling and tries to “help.”
like oh cool now i get to emotionally crumble in front of a guy named tyler with perfect ankles. he said “maybe you’re between sizes” which is just a polite way of saying im a porker.
i’ve also reached the point where trying pants on physically exhausts me.
like i do one change and i’m winded. i’m in the dressing room just staring at my reflection like a guy who lost a duel. anyway i bought sweatpants and left. i now own seven pairs of the exact same sweatpants and honestly that’s who i am now