Lost in Lederhosen

Lululemon, You Betrayed Me.

A good legging is hard to find.
Like, really hard.
Like... harder-than-finding-a-midlife-career-pivot-that-pays hard.

And I’m not talking about the cute airport athleisure kind worn by people who never miss a macro or a moment to say “I’m obsessed.” I’m talking about the real leggings. The ones you put on when you’re about to move, sweat, bounce, or run from whatever stress spiral you're in that day.

Recently, I did the brave thing.
I opened the legging drawer.

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There, in that stretchy graveyard, I came face to face with every lie I’ve ever told myself about “maybe I’ll wear these again.”

There were the ones that squeeze like sausage casing.
The ones that roll down like window shades.
The ones that make me look like I’m smuggling baked goods in my waistband.
The ones that somehow feel like shiny pantyhose with delusions of grandeur.

I kept three.
Just three pairs that don’t dig, roll, bunch, or scream "this isn’t a muffin top — this is a full-on scone spread."

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I used to have a flat stomach. Not abs, not “fitspo,” just flat.
And I didn’t appreciate it. I treated it like a default setting.

Now? A little too much wine, a little too much late-night carb coping, and the hormonal rollercoaster that is menopause — and voila. I need space in there.

Not compression.
Not a lasso.
Just space.

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Which brings me to the betrayal:
Lululemon.

Once the gold standard.
The holy grail of leggings.
Supportive, flattering, soft-but-structured. You could run, bend, stretch, breathe...and still eat a sandwich.

Then they changed.
Waistbands shrank. Sizing shifted. Fabrics went from "subtle hug" to "full body stranglehold."
Apparently they now cater to people with no visceral fat or visceral memory of bread.

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What I want is simple:

• A wide, flat waistband that doesn’t fold like origami

• A fabric that holds me without molding me into an emotional support bratwurst

• And enough structure that I don’t look like I’m wearing swim tights from 1998

I’m not asking for magic.
I’m asking for engineering.

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Look, I work out every day.
I’m in shape — just a different shape than I used to be.
Leggings may be lost. My figure may be less firm.
But the woman in them?
Still got it.

Maybe with a little more bounce.
A little more breath.
And a whole lot less patience for clothes that don’t meet me where I am.