For somebody whose job requires regularly dressing for evening events where a quick head-to-toe evaluation is as customary as air kisses, I have a forlorn aversion to getting ready for anything where female patrons might have spent a previous portion of the night pondering the perfect shade of red lip for their age. The reason is an even combo of lazy dresser syndrome (incrementally intensifying with age) and an ardent and long-standing attachment to jogging pants.
And so it was that last night, instead of attending the opening of visual artist Harley Valentine’s group exhibit at The Alison Milne Gallery, I stayed in and blamed my towering workload, the howling wind and a hamper of laundry for placing me under house arrest. I want to say that once I knew I wouldn’t have to venture outdoors again for the night, I changed out of my work clothes and into “something more comfortable,” but to simply describe my jogging pants as “comfortable” would be an injustice to their character.
Like Batman before me, my closet is chock-a-block with duplicates of a single wardrobe item. The Dark Knight has his utilitarian noir armour, and I have my grey jogging pants. From charcoal to heather grey, my closet is a laze-about’s dream. While I am not a pack rat — or at least not one worthy of Hoarders — I rarely toss away one of my cotton gems. I am a purist when it comes to joggers and would never trade in elastic cuffs and cotton for a nylon/spandex blend.
My curation has earned me a collection that ranges from classics nabbed in high school, like Northern Reflections, Cotton Ginny and Beaver Canoe (that memorable partnership between Roots and Camp Tamakwa), and my latest acquisition: a pair of vintage-t-shirt soft-sweats by Canadian designer Jules Power. Known for her polished take on contemporary casual wear, Power brings the distinction of tailoring to her youthful pieces — even sweats — from rolled-sleeve crew tops to my cropped capri pants, which I picked up from Robber on Queen West last year. I wear mine despite Pickle having pulled the drawstring out from the waistband and my nephew having finger painted on them with what did not end up being washable paint. Luckily Powers will be having a sample sale at 780 Queen Street West (entrance on Gore Vale) from the 6th-8th,, where I will hopefully be able to grab a new pair (elbow-edging may ensue).
Luxuriating in my Power sweats, I begin to tackle the editing and household chores at hand, periodically stopping to read through the email field commentary sent to me from the gallery by my friend/colleague Tobin Dalrymple (a columnist for Hardly):
Email #1
Me: The hustle bustle of punch drinkers matches my red 7 jeans denim perfectly – bought them from Aritzia on sale 3 years ago. Finally they fit after a diet of cucumber and celery.
Email #2
Princess Anthea: She’s got great legs wrapped in geometric patterned stocking, all black dress, with sparkly little rhinestones everywhere to match her ears and teeth.
Email #3
This Guy: Wearing a pink plaid button down that proclaims "’punks not dead’… then coughs a little bit and says ‘just kidding. Who cares!?’"
Email #4
The Atmosphere: Maybe it’s the royal wedding, but big checks and stripes and funky morning colours abound. I half expect teacups and walking sticks — you know, those really British walking stick thingies.
I felt graciously freed from the certain anxiety I would have endured had I turned on my flat iron and climbed into a pair of tyrannical, geometric-patterned stockings rather than my endearing and faithful joggers. Of course, my feelings were tinged with some pangs of regret for not attending what looked to be an interesting art exhibit, and especially for missing out on Valentine’s work. After all, it’s only natural to be curious about the work of an artist wearing, as Tobin informed me, vintage Cole Haan’s and a hand-painted vest reminiscent of the Jackson Pollock school.
Today seems the perfect day to champion the glory of sweatpants: this a.m., millions of Canadians awoke to watch the royal nuptials. While the festive ladies amongst us may have broken out the ornate headwear and white gloves, I would wager that most wore pajamas or a cozy pair of joggers.
Whereas the man in the grey flannel suit suffers from an individuality crisis, I, the woman in the grey cotton pant, am freed from social and professional expectations — however temporarily. Find a friend in jogging pants and freedom too, can be yours.
Toronto-based writer Jennifer Lee is the Editorial Director of FILLER magazine, an online fashion & culture journal. She is also the Co-Editor of Hardly magazine, an arts-centric online teen publication for Canadian girls. Her column, The Dressing Room, appears weekly.