The curse of the skinny white jean (cropped)

So here’s the thing. You see some cropped skinny white jeans and they’re a bit small but you’re optimistic you’ll get slim enough to wear them and you love that whole Parisian look of cropped skinnies so you buy them.

This is how I hope they'll look - delish!

And, thanks to cutting down on the wine and stepping up the exercise, you lose the weight so the cropped white skinnies finally fit and one morning you decide to wear them.

You find a nice, new colour-blocking top that pushes your boundaries a little and you put it on with the trousers and some big wedges to make you look a little leaner, and you look in the mirror and think, “mmm… that’s okay… I don’t think that’s offensive in any way” and you feel a little pleased that you’re wearing something other than the 10 per cent of your wardrobe that you wear 90 per cent of the time, and you go out to meet some friends for breakfast.

And, as you’re walking into the coffee shop, you see your reflection in the glass door. You can’t help but notice it. The skinny white jeans that didn’t look anywhere near offensive at home don’t look at all Audrey Hepburn-ish; they suddenly look like they’re being worn by an overweight elephant. The elephant’s hips are bulging with every step and, OMG, if you saw someone in those jeans you’d think they were very brave stepping out looking like that.

And of course you know the elephant’s you.

But this is probably more realistic

So you walk into the coffee shop thinking, “What do I really look like? Is the mirror lying, or is the coffee shop door lying?” and you want to ask your friends, “Really, girls, be honest…” but you’re scared that they’ll say, “Well, sit down. We’ve been meaning to talk to you about this”, or that they’ll think you’re too old to feel so paranoid about clothes or that you’re fishing for compliments when really you’re just feeling insecure and all wrong and wishing you’d worn that floaty old maxi dress with the hole in it that hides everything.

So you ignore the French toast and order an Americano not a cappuccino and you keep your bum hidden under the table. You make sure you leave last so your friends don’t have to watch your ass undulating in front of them down the corridor, and you go home and take of the cropped white skinnies.

And that, my friends, is why there’s an awful lot of slim Filipinas walking around this town in madam’s cropped white skinnies.