You may recall the dark despair felt when I realised my old maternity jeans were long gone. Determined to unearth a secondhand pair of Citizens, I stalked the interwebs until one day there was not one but two listings beckoning from the screen. Unsure of size, I bid on both, 28s and the 30s, thinking a roomier spare pair wouldn’t go astray. And won them both.

Well, they’ve arrived. That’s the good news, I guess.

The not-good news: They’re boot cut.

Yep, you read that right. Boot-bloody-cut.


Boot cut? What was I thinking? Surely this was mentioned in at least one of the listings. I can’t believe I willingly wore a pair of boot cut jeans even ten years ago.

Boot cut. What sane woman reads these words and thinks, “hmm, yes, I want to revisit 1998. I’m thinking boot cut jeans.”???

Boot cut. Not even enough pizazz to aim for a full retro flare.

Boot cut. The cut that says “forget these calves, check out what this proportion-illusion does to those thighs: they’re not all that slender, are they?”

Here come the boot cut jeans

Holy fucking first world maternity fashion problems. At least the denim feels nice. That’ll be appreciated when I’m gardening in them.


*And the 28s may have been shortened, too, so they flare around a high ankle. Nice. I could be wearing my son’s pants.