I wear leggings.

Not just at the gym. Not just at yoga or ballet.  EVERYWHERE.

Yes, that’s right.  Those stretchy shiny black leg stuffing tights that people substitute as pants? They’re my wardrobe staple.

Please don’t judge me.  It’s just that, well, I HATE jeans.  “WHAT???” you say –  “who is this crazypants jeans hater and what is she doing on a fashion blog loving leggings like some kind of Li-lo denialist???” Settle down there I say.  There is no need for such liberal use of the question mark.  And let’s leave Lindsay out of this.  Let me explain.

I’ve got a weird body. Oddly shaped.  I don’t fit the magazine mould for ‘apple’ or ‘pear’ – I’m no kind of fruit at all.  I’m over 6′ 1″ with a short bricky body, no waist, no boobs, and legs that go forever.  Sounds good doesnt it? Walk a mile in my size 12 shoes, darlings.  It’s no picnic. Maxi dresses are never maxi enough, mini skirts are not an option, heels leave people gaping skywards and as for pants? I just say no.

For my entire awkward adolescent life, and beyond into my early 20’s, I had suffered from what’s known in the medical fashion world as “anklearis frozenitis”.  Where pants the world over stopped short a good two inches above the ankles, leaving my pale skin cold and exposed.

The humiliation was always exacerbated by smug shop assistants who, upon seeing my enormous frame, would exclaim “oh we have ones that will fit you!” and like some sick fashion challenge, subject me to dozens of ill fitting options before crumbling in defeat.

They were the worst of times. While all my friends were wearing cute little bootleg Sass and Bide, or hipster Lee jeans, I was forced to shop meekly in the men’s section at Just Jeans.  No, I was not decades ahead of the boyfriend jean trend. I was just desperate. I was forced to wear baggy jeans and sling them low on my hips so they’d reach an acceptable level and meet my flat, ugly skater shoes.  My musical tastes changed accordingly to rap and hip hop.  I wore baseball caps and baggy shirts and looked like an uncomfortable pre-pubescent boy.

The advent of internet shopping was my bright light at the end of the tunnel.  But though my search engine worked overtime on “tall girl clothes”, the results were always ill-fitting and poorly made.

And over the years, with the explosion of shopping chains, with more choice than ever, the situation has not improved.

So I renounced jeans. I banned pants.  I scoffed at Maxi’s.  And I embraced the safe, comfortable legging.  Not on it’s own, mind you, I remain to this day highly opposed to visible camel toe and panty line.  But teamed with a dress, a long , belted shirt and a nice ballet flat, it works for me.

And you know what I realized? It looked fine. Those abnormally long legs I hated as a teenager turned out to be a good asset. And in (high denier) skin-tight black leggings, I can go on and flaunt it, ankles covered.

I believe it’s called dressing for your shape.  And it’s not always easy, and sometimes you gotta go through a lotta pain and hip-hop to find what works for you. So haters begone.  I will not be defined by denim. ‘Cos these long legs love a legging.

And now, the sky is the limit for this giant black duck. No longer will I be dictated to by the fashions and seasons.  No longer will I curse my body because it doesn’t “work” with the latest trends.  Because I’ve found something that works

for me and I’m building my style around it.  That’s why the world needs more SIXBORN.  It’s not just for apples or pears.  It’s the place for pineapples and bricks, for figure 8’s and figure 2’s. A place where difference is embraced, where the fashion fringe can find their style.  And whilst I’m still jeans-shy, I’m seeing my fashion therapist.


And this summer, when you see me rocking a SIXBORN maxi, your jaw wont be the only thing hitting the floor.  Finally, the fabric will be too.