I spent twelve dollars on a pair of used skinny jeans yesterday. Yes--skinny jeans. I swore--SWORE--that I would never do such a thing. I mean--they are all fine and well on fashionable teeny boppers, but I’m a grown woman. A grown woman who did, in fact, spend several years of her life rolling up the ankles of her jeans, and then has spent the remaining years trying to atone for such a grave fashion error.
And yet I bought some. I’m wearing them even now. Even though I still think they sorta make me look like a muffin, which as you all know is not the most flattering shape on a woman. And why am I doing this to myself? Because I am a tragic and yet willing victim of perceived obsolescence.
Well, perceived obsolescence is similar, except that there is nothing faulty about the merchandise. We are persuaded to replace it not because it has fallen apart or quit working, but because we perceive it to be obsolete (aka outdated). Such is the case with my skinny jeans.
It’s a sickness, really.
Admittedly sometimes the resistance is futile. And someday I’ll look at the photos of me wearing these skinny jeans and think “why? what was I thinking?” Until then, I guess I need more practice at being less trendy.

