Yes, I lived my teenage years during the 00’s … the zeros? The 0’s? What the hell are we calling that decade? So that only meant one thing. Everyone was well aware of the fact, that my ass (or lack there of), was indeed … Juicy.

Why my mother gave into my incessant begging for these coveted tracksuits, I have no idea. Looking back, they look like something that should have died in the 70’s. But seeing the cool, popular girls strutting around the hallways of my high school in them, like something out of the O.C. or Mean Girls, with their designer totes to match, made me crave them. I wanted them in every color. And not because they looked comfy. Oh no. To be honest, I don’t know what the allure was.

But one Christmas morning, I tore through a gift box, and there it was. My very own, black, velour Juicy tracksuit. The dangling J on the zipper gleamed, and all of a sudden, I felt … rich. Famous. Like Paris Hilton (ew right?). Side note: Do you know how expensive these tracksuits were? I want to say, somewhere in the high $100’s to low $200’s for both pieces … of velour. With that being said, my mom got mine at Lohemans, meaning I probably had last year’s style … but God I didn’t care. I wanted to throw on oversized sunglasses, strut around town with my knock-off designer tote, and listen to the newest B. Spears track (pre-K. Fed … she was still cool).

You would think rockin’ a tracksuit to school would be the epitome of comfort. Like wearing your jammies to school, right? WRONG. YOU ARE WRONG, SIR. Me? Well I was 5’9 in high school. But rail thin. And let me tell you something, a large didn’t fit me in Juicy tracksuits. Seriously? Umm okay. So I was an extra large … and THAT barely fit me. Oh yeah, and the pants (no, unfortunately mine did not have “Juicy” across the ass), were never long enough. When I sat down for class, everyone knew what kind of socks I was rocking with my Birkenstock clogs (oh yeah … clogs … and velour … I was the shit) and if I had shaved my legs.

You know what else sucked about rockin’ Juicy velour sweats? Everyone seeing my ass crack and/or thong (oh yeah … I wore thongs, too. I probably owned stock in thongs in the 00’s). Why in the world some big shot at the Juicy velour tracksuit factory thought it was a genius idea to make a pair of sweats so low that women’s vagina bone hung out … I will never understand. Did I give a shit? Oh no. If Britney Spear’s vagina bone was out, as was mine. So I sat in my seat, listening to my teacher go on and on about something, hardcore slouching so much that my back was barely touching the seat, trying not to move, for fear the person in back of me would get full view of my crack. Back problems were no concern to me (literally I would walk out of class and my lower back would be numb). And forget crouching down to get something in my locker. I perfected this sideways, limbo where I strategically would pull my shirt down as I scooped whatever I needed up.

Good times, right? I actually just gave away my last Juicy zip up to my niece (it wasn’t velour, it was cotton and striped and what I thought to be, once upon a time, super abstract and different for Juicy), which is, unfortunately, probably a vintage relic for her. But am I sad to see Juicy closing all of their US stores? Absolutely not. Those tracksuits were torture devices, and their sizing was unrealistic and idiotic, and by the way, it’s not nor has it ever been cool to walk around with the word “Juicy” on your ass. No one will think your ass is “all that” just because the word Juicy is across it. Track suits are full of lies, I tell you, LIES.

Hey, every generation has that cringe moment. Mine happens to be rather expensive and stupid … and probably the reason why I have back problems. The good news is, I don’t wear thongs anymore. So that’s cool. What up, granny panties!