The Pajama Jeans arrive in a box with a coquettish, barefoot blond on the front. She looks so comfortable! And so stylish!
Exclusive Dormisoft denim moves and stretches with you. No bulky zippers or buttons.
Pajama Jeans are $40 informercial sweatpants masquerading as denim. It has come to this. Jeans no longer satisfy our subjugated rears. Jeans! The pinnacle of ease! What 19th-century sailors wore to daub the decks!
Not good enough. We drive through, stop by, take out. We demand constant comfort. We wear a blanket with sleeves and quite literally don't have to move.
In the quest for simplicity, we will buy whatever it takes.
Pajamas you live in. Jeans you sleep in.
They're worth a try.
• • •
After a morning shower, I wrap my hair in a Turbie Twist, terry cloth shaped like a ladle. I twist the top and secure with an elastic loop. This contraption was $5 at CVS. It's kind of ... nice. Light. Fun.
Stays in Place! Less Blow Drying! One Size Fits All! Super Absorbent! Lightweight! Machine Washable!
Time for Pajama Jeans. I pull them on in a swoop. They don't have any fasteners, just thread where the fly should go. The butt actually looks cute, and they look darn close to jeans. But this pair is designed for someone taller than me. The waist peaks dangerously close to my navel. The legs drag.
I ditch the Turbie Twist, find my tallest boots and head to Bed Bath & Beyond. Educated in television retail, I know exactly what I need.
Make your jeans work with every shoe in your closet. Adjustable, reusable and safe on any fabric! No sewing! No ironing! No gluing!
As Seen On TV products clutter Bed, Bath & Beyond in Clearwater. There's the inimitable Shake Weight, which begs to be compared to porn. The Kymaro Body Shaper, which looks like a Home Depot back brace. The Easy Feet, which sits on the shower floor and does the work for you.
No more bending to clean your feet!
The Style Snaps are $9.99 for 16 snaps. As I scoop them up, I glimpse the Cami Secret, fabric that attaches to your bra. It's basically a dickey, but we don't use that word anymore because heh-heh-heh. I decide my neckline might be a little low and grab a three-pack for $9.99.
The layered look without the bulk!
The checkout clerk studies the items. She is concerned, contemplative.
"I always wonder how these work," she says, then takes my money.
• • •
I point to the Pajama Jeans. My co-worker blinks.
"I need those."
I show her the Style Snaps.
"I need those."
The Style Snaps, which stick to your hem in two places, are easy to use. The hemmed cuff is a little lumpy, but serviceable. Applying 16 pieces of sticky plastic is indeed quicker than sewing.
The Cami Secret comes in white, nude and black with lace trim. The package shows a woman with glorious cleavage "before," covered with a staid white triangle "after." Men hate these. It's like a chastity belt for your chest, a big red X through fun. I grab white and clip the flimsy nylon into place.
My As Seen On TV outfit is ready.
According to the Pajama Jeans commercial, the pants let you achieve your dreams. Travel, work on a computer, walk up stairs. I spend some time in Starbucks, typing on my laptop. Fine. I dash into Tuesday Morning and pull a roller suitcase down the aisle. Sure, works. I pump gas, feeling bad for some guys snaking into a car to get their keys. Their Levis must be so constricting! If only they had Pajama Jeans!
I feel ... janky. Cobbled together. Like I never really got dressed. The pants are comfortable and soft, but they stretch and slump the more I move. I start to feel doughy. My posture stinks. By the end of the day, I'm irritable and sloppy.
I wonder if I should have bought the Kymaro Body Shaper.
• • •
I head for the gym. After all ...
Pajama Jeans are so lightweight and comfortable, wear them while working out!
When I unsnap the Cami Secret, my gym buddy Melissa says, "I wondered if that's what that was." I pair a Nike workout top with the Pajama Jeans. People glance. I've finally gone to the looney farm.
After the elliptical machine and weights, I'm pouring sweat like a dying beluga. Once a "sexy second skin," the Pajama Jeans have sagged irretrievably. They look sad and heavy, decorative brass rivets crying on my butt.
I go home and shower. I use the Turbie Twist and put on a T-shirt and sweatpants.
No snaps. No faux denim. No miracle solutions for $9.99.
Turns out, I want simplicity, too. I want to sleep in my pajamas, and live in my jeans.