An Ode To My Juicy Tracksuit

paris-hilton-and-juicy-couture-terrycloth-trackpants-galleryYes, 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!


Hey … Remember 2001?!

imagesWhether you were a teenager 5, 10, 15, 20 … etc. etc. etc., :::cough::: … years ago, there is probably a part of you that would love to hop in the DeLorean and bitch slap your younger self. Why? Because you were an idiot. Admit it. Laugh, take a sip of wine, and admit it … for the love.

During a very “stylish chat” with fellow bloggers today, it made me think about my time as a teen. Yeesh. That’s all I have to say about that. I was in the throes of my teenage years during the zeros? The 00’s? The early 2000’s? What the hell are we calling that decade anyways? Whatever … regardless, the saying, “I wish that I knew what I know now, like when I was younger,” is so true. I wish my 26-year-old self could tap my 13-18 year-old self on the shoulder and say something like, “Ey you, stop acting a fool. Kay thanks, byeeeee.” But alas, that kind of technology hasn’t been invented yet.

So if I could hop in my fire engine red DeLorean and stop myself from doing idiotic things … here’s what they would be … ahem:

1. Chill With The “OMG’s” and “WTF’s”: The chances of you and your friend or frenemy that spread the rumor around school that you once made out with a hot dog (Mean Girls … ayeoooo), still being friends outside of your teenage-dom … is slim to none. You’ll walk away with two, maybe three friends from high school. “No no no … but we are like best frien …” I’m going to stop you there. You don’t think you’ll lose touch, but you will. College will happen, new friends will swoop in, then internship friends, then real life friends … then you’ll be saying high school who? Right. So chill with the drama. For reals … this “real world” your teachers and parents keep talking to you about does actually exist … and blows. Badly. Save your tears and reality TV drama moments for when you get verbally beat down by your boss for the first time. Boom.

2. Wear Your Damn Rubber Bands/Retainer: Because when you’re 26, your bottom teeth will be jacked. And you will be pissed that you went through all that pain to have your teeth go back to the way God intended them to be. Like really pissed. Now you have to start pricing out God damn Invisalign so you don’t have to look like Faith Hill at the Grammy’s.

3. Get. Out. Of. The. Sun: Wrinkles aren’t just for mom-mom’s. And skin tags … they really do exist. And for the love of Jesus, you’ll still get tan whilst wearing SPF 30. And my GOD no one gives a shit that you have a tan line of a Playboy bunny on your hip from the tanning salon. Cancer. Yeah … that’s a real thing too. Hats. Umbrellas. SPF 70. I don’t care what the hell you do … just take care of your skin, for the love of God. Hmmm people liking me because I’m sun-kissed … or cancer? People liking me because I’m sun-kissed … or cancer?

4. Stop Giving A Shit What People Think: It won’t matter. Ever. Like never ever. You think those girls gossiping in the corner before Home Room will haunt you the rest of your life? Nope. The minute you get handed your diploma, they will fall into the dark abyss of your memory never to return again (unless you want to rock your reunion … which I don’t suggest … unless you really want to stick it to them, then go for the gold). Wear what you want, and don’t just give in to trends because everyone else is doing it. Not expressing yourself will be the biggest regret of them all. Instead of standing out, you will fade into the velour cloud of Juicy sweat suits. Vom.

5. Start Becoming One With Healthy Foods: Your fab metabolism … won’t last forever. No matter how long you think it will … it won’t. Your ass will start giggling, you will get stretch marks, and all because you got addicted to shit food and soft drinks in your younger years. Humus, meet mouth … mouth … meet humus.

P.S.: Stop thinking you are going to move to New York City to become J. Lo’s next back up dancer, draining your mother’s bank account with hours of dance lessons and $90 dance costumes made of plether and other very flammable fabrics. Instead … hit the yoga studio. ASAP. Kay, thanks.

5. Tell Name Brands To Suck It: There will be this mystical store in the future called Forever 21 that will be a game changer, where you can get fashion forward, rich looking outfits … for literally nothing. Brands like Juicy Couture, Hard Tail, Michael Stars, Mavi, Seven, etc. … won’t mean anything. Also, teenagers shouldn’t carry around designer handbags unless they can buy it for themselves, they happen to have rock stars for parents, or they did something like cure cancer. Otherwise it just looks ridiculous. Word.

Now if only my actual adult self could come calm my on-edge 26-year-old ass and tell me everything was going to a-okay and that I would end up publishing Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra, and ride off into the sunset on a unicorn with Justin Timberlake.