I divide my life into two epochs: “BS” (Before Stretch waistbands) and “AS,” as in After Stretchy and After Skinny and After Sixty-Five.
During my BS era, I refused to shop at Chico’s, J. Jill or Talbots or any store designed for women over 40 because I was an arrogant size-2 thin person who could wear slim skirts and pants with zippers. I had managed to hold onto my flat stomach until I was 65 — the result of an anxiety-fueled metabolism and a newsroom job that kept me click-click-clicking in heels for 10,000 steps a day for decades.
The skinny me believed Karl Lagerfeld when he declared in 2013: “Sweatpants are a sign of defeat. You lost control of your life, so you bought some sweatpants.”
I suspect the late designer equated “control of your life” with the ability to maintain a highly disciplined diet. He lost 90 pounds in 2000 when he woke up one morning and decided he wanted to fit into the slim-cut designs of Hedi Slimane for Dior. He endured a 1,200-calorie-a-day diet — not for health reasons but for toothpick-tiny trousers.
“There is nothing worse than looking longingly at clothes that you would like to wear but that are definitely too tight for you,” he wrote in his 2005 book, The Karl Lagerfeld Diet.
Like Karl, I was smug and snarky when I was slim. Perhaps that is the price for not eating enough cake.
Or perhaps I was just afraid. An elastic waistband meant the End of Sexy, I feared, the end of my ability to “lure the male gaze,” as my friend Pati says. Perhaps I feared the inevitable Evolution of Man: we come into life crawling in our moisture-wicking pull-ups, and we go out the same way.
Then I turned 65 — and my midsection popped like a can of Pillsbury crescent rolls. Three years and 15 pounds later, I am too curvy for Karl but also too old to care.
I’ve lost my will to zip.
Now I look longingly at carefree clothes with elastic waists or drawstrings or wrap-style waistbands. Not sweatpants, mind you, and not leggings — no, no, no. I have not admitted defeat, Karl! I don’t wear “athleisure” clothes for anything but exercise, and I find that trend so tired, so tedious and so 2020.
Let's not confuse my “AS” epoch with a trip to Frumpy Town. My pants are pull-ups, but I’m still pulled together.
I’m particularly enamored with bohemian brands that employ “free sizing” — one size that fits most, say sizes 4 through 14 — and can be adjusted as a woman gains or loses 10 pounds.