Death of the Perfect Yoga Pants

depressed-womenImage via Shutterstock

Forgive me for this emotional post, but I’m in an emotional mood.

I have the right to be.

I have just laid to rest something that has been with me for almost nine years. Something that has seen me through three pregnancies and three sleepless newborn phases. Something that has seen me gain and lose sixty pounds three times over and never once judged or mocked me. Something that brought me comfort on the coldest of days and understanding after the largest of Thanksgiving meals. A constant companion to me, always forgiving, kind and supportive.

Today, my favorite pair of black yoga pants died.

I’ve known, for quite some time, that this day was coming. Last year, the seams along the ankles slowly began coming apart. I ignored the frayed edges, not wanting to admit to myself what they really meant. When the crotch began to give out a few months ago, I resigned myself to only wearing them in comfort of my own home, or at the very most with an over-sized shirt at school pick up and drop off.

The end was coming, I could sense it.

Today, I realized that the fabric, once thick and opaque was almost transparent, it had become so thin. Between the disappearing crotch, the frayed ankles and the almost non existent fabric, my precious pants were dissolving before my very eyes. I knew it was time to gather the courage to say goodbye. Holding back tears, I buried them under peeled potato skins and old crumpled up band-aids in the kitchen trash, as not to be tempted to resurrect them like that thrown away chocolate cake I simply can’t resist. I know myself well.

Sure, you say, there will be other black yoga pants. In fact, there are other black yoga pants in my life, nine pairs of them, to be exact. But, there are none that flare out at the bottom just like that pair did. There are are none that are slimming in the hips and flatten out my belly, but are as comfortable as loose fitting flannel pajamas. There are none that lift my ass, just so and are thin enough to wear in the heat of summer. We had history, my pants and I, and there are none that even come close to comparing.

I’ll continue my never ending search for the perfect pair of black yoga pants, but I know it will be futile. That kind of love just doesn’t happen twice in a lifetime. Perhaps there was something magical about them, anyway. I’m not even sure where they came from to begin with, with their lack of label and seemingly sudden appearance in my dresser drawers. It must have been the universes’s gift to me: The perfect pair of black yoga pants. A gift, but all too brief. Perhaps it would have been better to never have known perfection like that at all.

My friends: Love your favorite pair of yoga pants. Treasure them. Appreciate them. Line dry them. Extend their life by never actually doing yoga in them.

You may not want to admit it, but they won’t be around forever.

It’s a lesson I learned the hard way.


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  1. The Domestic Goddess says

    Oh honey. I’m so sorry.

    Just did this last fall. I still think of them often. I have two new pairs but…you know it’s never the same. Ever.

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  2. Kristin says

    I’ve never had a black pair of Yoga pants, so I can’t understand your pain completely. However, I did have a favorite GAP nightdress, also black, that was so soft you barely knew it was on. It would always hang in just the right way so as to hide my flaws. I left it, in a moment of extreme carelessness, hanging on the back of the bathroom door in a motel. When I called to see if someone had found it, they pretended not to know. But I know. I know that someone is sleeping in my perfect nightie.

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      • Kristin says

        Not at all. It’s like being the breakee in a relationship and then seeing my former lover walking arm-in-arm with someone new.

        This post brought it all back.

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        • Maya says

          Most hilarious and heart wrenching.

          In my drawer lays a pair of dark blue sweat pants that have been a part of my life since my teenage years. They have a disappearing crotch also and specks of glitter on the leg from a once fancy logo. Sometimes my husband threatens to discard them, but I know how long those pants and I have fanned the flames of a lasting relationship. I am going to wear them now before it is all too late.

          Thank you all for the posts.

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  3. Kerry Ann @Vinobaby's Voice says

    In times like this, all I can offer is my sincerest condolences. I’m sorry for your loss. If you lived closer I’d drop of a casserole or tray of cupcakes.

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  4. Jo says

    Jill, it might be too early to say this, so forgive me if it is. Sometimes these cruel things happen so that new opportunities for all the desperately unloved, new, yearning yoga pants in stores might have a chance at happiness. As you recover, a new relationship might begin, and you have shown such love to those pants, it’s wonderful that another pair may get to experience it too. Bless you in your grief.

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  5. Victoria says

    I am so, so sorry for your loss – truly tragic. I am sure in time you will be the stronger for having the pants in your life and you will be able to laugh about the good times you shared. *hugs*

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  6. Denise Malloy says

    *a moment of silence* RIP dear yoga pants, may you always smell of Tide Plus Febreeze Sport and may you never be stretched out by an actual Sun Salutation in yoga pants heaven.

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