This is not a post about how I tried, and failed, to get into a pair of my jeans (okay, two pairs) last night after months of exclusively wearing shorts and skirts, nor the hot shame that crept over me and I swear I’m going to lose some weight and gym membership, here I come; spin class, hear me roar. It’s not about that. Fuck that.

I had already made the decision that I was basically done with jeans, actually. I had relegated most of my pairs to that eternal purgatory—my closet at my parents’ house. (Let’s hope they’re happy in that strange cultural hodgepodge. I embrace both the low-brow and the high-brow, which is certainly why I am such a stellar conversationalist and trivia player. My forsaken jeans are sharing real estate with Dawson’s Creek box sets, hundreds of beanie babies, my most loathed theoretical texts from college, one neglected furby, and lots of Faulkner and Bellow that I filched from my Dad.)

But I’m questioning it all now, because holy hell, fucking Anthropologie has released the most amazing pants, jeans, cords, and leggings this girl has ever seen. I shudder to think what size I might need, but hot damn, get me in a pair of these geometrical-printed bad boys stat! And a pair of turquoise cord leggings. And paisley skinnies.

I think I’m deep in the throes of an identity crisis. Someone save me.