The WORST Leggings EVER?!

I think we all know what we mean when someone refers to a pair of BAD leggings.

bad leggings
An prime example of bad leggings that I found whilst googling “bad leggings”

Maybe they don’t quite fit right or are unexpectedly see-through.

Maybe they have a tendency to slip down off your hips, threatening to leave you exposed.  Or maybe they go in the other direction, riding up into a cameline sort of situation.

There are many different scenarios in which a person might consider a pair of leggings to be less-than-perfect.  But my story tells of not only bad leggings, but rather a pair of leggings that I would consider to be a worthy candidate for the title of WORST LEGGINGS EVER.

My encounter with these dastardly leggings began with me being lured into getting what I thought was the bargain of the century when I discovered them in the sports section for a meagre $5.  Now, normally I am morally opposed to purchasing such cheap leggings because I find their construction to be FAR too flimsy.  But $5 was just too juicy of a bargain for me to pass up.

In my experience I have found that I can wear through a pair of $10 leggings, regardless of their store of origin, in about a week.  So I didn’t really have high hopes for a pair that were half that price.  This low rate of legging durability is due, in large part, to the fact that I have thighs that tend to enjoy rubbing together as I walk.  I have found that when it comes to the humble legging the higher the price tag, the longer they will last.  [I would like to note that the excessive overpricing of branded sportswear in New Zealand does throw this statement somewhat out of whack.  My favourite Nike leggings cost me €29 ($44NZ) in Spain but $60NZ back here in NZ.  I still think that they are worth the price, but slightly less good value.]

bad tan leggings
Another example of bad leggings. In my defence, I don’t think I would ever consider owning tan leggings…

Unfortunately I am going through a period of my life where I don’t have a casual $60 lying around to spend on cotton leggings, and I was unable to pass up what appeared to be such a good bargain.  So with that, I raced straight home with my brand new $5 leggings clutched tightly in my fist and threw off whatever I was currently wearing (probably other leggings) in favour of trying on these little beauties. 

Given their unbelievably low price tag, I expected these leggings to fit terribly.  I assumed that they would be practically transparent with a super saggy crotch and legs that were visibly different lengths.  In a weird turn of events, this was not the case.  Completely unexpectedly, they were the most perfect leggings that I had ever tried on.  I gaped at the leggings in the mirror for a bit, my brows furrowed in suspicion. 

In a surprise turn of events they were, by all appearances, the best leggings I had ever tried on.  Yes, they were a little on the see-through side when I bent over – but what leggings aren’t?  I have a strict policy that whatever I am wearing on my top half must always reach down over my butt anyway, so this was no matter.  Perhaps in my heart, I have never really accepted leggings as a true alternative to pants.  Or perhaps I have a deep-seated fear of being seen in public with a frontal-wedgie and no one to tell me about it.

Apart from this minor translucency detail, the leggings were apparently flawless.  They sat high on my hips and were tight enough that they stayed up, but not so tight that they dug in uncomfortably.  They ended at mid-calf (a proper three-quarter length), and were ever so slightly elasticated at the bottom so as to prevent the bottoms of the legs from riding up to my knees – a real pet peeve of mine.  The fabric was well elasticated, and the stretch firm enough that it held all the wobbly bits in place – effectively tricking everyone into thinking that cellulite was not a problem that I suffered from.  Obviously, I immediately forgot my initial suspicion at the low price tag and allowed myself to instead believe that I had somehow stumbled upon the BEST leggings in the world.

All of this lulled me into a false sense of security and tricked me into thinking that I had nabbed myself the bargain of the century.

The dastardly leggings in question

All of this lulled me into a false sense of security and tricked me into thinking that I had nabbed myself the bargain of the century.

Feeling somewhat overly chuffed with myself, I trotted off to work in my swanky new pantalones.

At work I allowed myself to enjoy the sensation of not having jiggly bits all over my legs.

I congratulated myself on having scored such a great deal.

But it was not to last.

It was all a lie.

I let my guard down, to (what could have been) disastrous consequences.

About an hour into my shift at work I leaned forward into the depths of a cat cage and my beloved new leggings slipped off my hips and shot straight down my thighs.

This was completely unexpected.

Normally if you feel your leggings (or any trousers, for that matter), start to lose their grip on your waist, you have a small but reasonable amount of time to readjust the situation.  All you have to do is hike them up to where they were and head on your merry way.  In this case, however, the leggings lost their grip on my hips and recoiled as if they were vertically elasticated.

I was effectively down-trailed by my own clothing. 

I was so surprised that I stood there gaping down at my pants, which were now bunched up above my knees before remembering where I was and hastily redressing myself.  My only solace was the fact that I was alone in the room and no one had seen. 

I know I mentioned previously that I always make a point of wearing long tops, but no shirt or blouse would have been long enough to hide what had just occurred, had it occurred in public.  I can only imagine how taken aback my customers would have been had my leggings dropped themselves in front of them. 

Had I been reaching across the counter at the front of the building, instead of into a cage out the back, this whole situation might’ve ended every differently.

I don’t quite know what went wrong, but it proceeded to repeatedly happen (though on a much lesser scale) for the rest of the day and on the subsequent times that I tried to wear the leggings – it wasn’t that I forgot what had happened the first time, it was more that I was unwilling to give up on leggings that were such a bargain.  It was almost like the leggings wouldn’t slowly slip down, as you would expect from any other pair of ill-fitting trousers, but rather they would just suddenly give up on their fight with gravity and instantly recoil into a puddle of cloth on the floor around my ankles.  I have never encountered such a scenario before, and I hope never to again.

It was genuinely very odd.

At the end of the day, I had allowed myself to be lulled into a false sense of security.  So I guess that the moral of the story is that you should trust no one and trust nothing.


Especially not cheap leggings.

Or else you will end up with your pants around your ankles in public…

The end.

On a very vaguely related side note – when I was younger we used to refer to the situation in which your trousers have autonomously travelled northwards into the cleft between your buttocks as “Puc” (pronounced “puck” like “luck” or “firetruck”).  PUC being an acronym for “Pants Up Crack”.  I am intrigued to know whether youths are still using this terminology – how would one go about finding out the sort of language spoken by younger generations?


My all-time favourite leggings, just in case you were interested.  You probably aren’t, but I don’t even care.  I used to wear them all the time when I was pretending to be a Language Assistant….

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