I’m not the biggest fan of jumpsuits, rompers, and the like. In theory, they’re perfect — chic, summery, and go well with sneakers or heels. You could wear it to the mall, then get home, slap on a tailored jacket, and boom! You’re ready for dinner. See — in theory, perfect!
En realidad, they’re a pain in the ass. The pricier rompers are wispy with weird flaps of fabric that scratch like a cat on acid and retail upward of Ohmygod-are-you-kidding-me. The more casual ones are made of jersey knit and obnoxiously see-through. There are cutesy buttons at the back, at the nape of your neck — their only purpose is to put up a solid fight when you try to undo them. And unless your underwear is glued onto your skin, the dreaded panty line is there on full display, like a flashing neon sign pointing to your derriere.
And these are not even the worst problems. Jumpsuits are one piece of very long fabric, with leg holes, armholes, and the part where the head pops out. “Well, duh!” — you’re saying — “we knew that.” The one-piece factor doesn’t seem like a big deal when you’re slipping on sandals and prancing out the door like you’re in a CoverGirl commercial.
In fact, it’s all rainbows and unicorns until —
(Warning: The following prose will invoke graphic/unpleasant imagery, so do yourself a favor and picture your favorite supermodel doing all the below. You’ve been cautioned.)
—until the absolute horror of your situation strikes a few hours later, when you have to use the…*ahem* …. facilities. Whether you’re in a dingy bathroom stall at the mall or at a fancy restaurant loo, the protocol is the same:
- With utter dismay, you realize you need to peel the jumpsuit down to your ankles to get any toileting done.
- After some cursing, you fight the cutesy buttons at the back and pull the whole apparatus down.
- As your barely covered torso shivers at its sudden freedom, you curse some more.
- Perching yourself gingerly on that toilet seat, you grimace and hold the fabric inches above the icky floor.
- You rethink all your life decisions.
- You come out of the bathroom stall and wash your hands (20 seconds, don’t forget!). Then you check for any errant body parts that may have popped out during Operation Jumpsuit Re-application.
- Cheeks flushed and eyes contrite, your reflection mouths, “I told you so.”
- You leave the bathroom, and a random lady outside points and whisper-shouts,” Your back is open!”
- Leftover embers of dignity get snuffed out. One more round of dueling with the cutesy buttons, and you’re respectable.
- With God as your witness, you vow to burn every jumpsuit in your closet and salt the surrounding earth, so you’d never, ever be tempted to buy one again.
I wish I were exaggerating, but I am not. Jumpsuits are a great leveler — they reach out to every grade of woman and humble them into shivering piles of shame and regret. They are the fabric version of a wild bender. Or even a rollercoaster. All fun and giggles until the drop comes and you’re left with a queasy tummy and a raging headache.
So yeah, I’m not the biggest fan of jumpsuits, rompers, and the like. To quote Dr. Seuss, “I meant what I said, and I said what I meant. Jumpsuits are horrible, one-hundred percent!” And that’s that.
But hang on. Hang on a minute. This email from Express says there’s a Mother’s Day sale on all women’s clothing — jumpsuits are 40% off!
Seriously? 40% off? Goodness, that yellow paisley one is darling!
I’m a grown woman with a home and two college degrees. I have birthed 2 children, and I’ve never had a speeding ticket. Jumpsuits don’t scare me. I can handle them just fine.