I remember a time before low-rise jeans. It was high school, I think. Pants came up to my waist, my real waist, and I wore a belt to keep them there because my waist was a smaller circumference than my hips. I remember this being quite a trial; I would pick out jeans that would go up over the hips and then they would gape at the waist and with the belt, it just cinched all that extra fabric and man, that was nasty.
So I have always thought low-rise jeans are magnificent. The waist of the jeans sits below your actual waist, so the difference between the hips and the waist measurement don’t matter as much. I started wearing low-rise trousers the summer I got my navel pierced and needed to wear bottoms that didn’t interfere with the healing. I never went back.
Unfortunately, after growing and busting out two children in three years, my body is a different shape now than when I was 21 (oh, it is to laugh!) and my actual waist, somewhere up there, is who knows what size. My middle, the vast plain between my hips and real waist, is pretty squishy. Thus, my low-rise pants, while I can still get them on and zip them and everything, have a tendency to create The Evil MuffinTop. Or, as SA was calling it last year, The Donut. Because my belly button in the middle..oh, nevermind.
But is the solution to go to high-rise pants? I think that would be much more uncomfortable. And I think they are ugly. Also. What kind of pants do you all wear?
PS: I mostly tell this story of pantly woe in order to relay the following anecdote. I was preparing to nurse Fresco this morning. I had just dressed myself in a pair of low-rise jeans from last year and a t-shirt. I lifted the t-shirt and the eager baby, who was still nestled in the crook of my arm, dove in and started to suckle. Unfortunately he was a few inches too low and ended up latching on to a thick chunk of my midriff. I was too busy laughing to reposition him right away. When it became apparent no milk was forthcoming, he broke his seal and pulled back to look up at me with a nasty glare. Then he used his free hand to pound me in the ribcage. False boobage! How dare you! he said. My low-rise days are over, I fear.