mom jeans

I have a hard time not laughing out loud when a teenage girl walks by me in high waisted, acid washed cut off’s.

“Mom jeans,” I chuckle to myself.

But somehow I think the joke is on me.

When that same teenager walks past me, and I’m wearing mid-rise skinny jeans, is she thinking “Mom jeans”?

It’s time to face reality. I’ve been lapped.

I’m at the age where the trends I wore in high school (let’s just call it baby doll, sunflower everything), have come back.

Walking into Urban Outfitters is like walking into Wet Seal circa 1993, Governor’s Square Mall, Tallahassee, FL.

But now instead of tracking my every move, the staff ignores me. And I want to pull them aside and say, Listen, I used to be cool. I AM cool.

I softly sing along to the song being pumped into the store to try and subtlety show the staff, the shoppers, how cool I am.

I am invisible.

I want to turn to them not-so-subtlety and yell over the music –

You hear that Stone Roses song playing way too loudly right now?

You weren’t even ALIVE when that song came out.

I have to use a calculator to do the math.

2014-1989 =

25

That can’t be right.

I double check. Yep. It’s true.

It’s at these moments that my envy of my friends with girls dulls a bit. I couldn’t imagine shopping in this store with my daughter, wincing at the price tags of these thrift store clothes, being in the dressing room and having to lie about the cute factor all during a weird state of I’ve been here before…

Getting old is walking out of Urban Outfitters faster than the floral pattern rompers are flying off the rack.

So I’ve been lapped. Big deal. It happens to everyone. But I don’t care how cool they become, I refuse to wear high waisted, acid washed cut off’s.

They will always be Mom jeans to me.