I Attempted One of This Season’s Hottest Trends and Turned Into a Giant Hotdog

At least I can waddle with the best of them

They are everywhere — online and in stores. They are trending all over Instagram and LTK (Like to Know). They pop up in the folds of every glossy magazine. They line the runways of the hottest fashion shows.

They are long and awkward. They look impossible to walk in. They remind you of that mean librarian from elementary school who always had spinach in her teeth.

They are confusingly this season’s hottest trend. They are ankle-length, denim skirts — and I am now the proud owner of one.

I debated this trend for some time. I consulted with friends and did my due diligence by Googling “maxi-denim-skirts for middle-aged moms.”

Those damn ads tricked me again.

“Of course, this will look amazing on you!” all the pop-ups screamed at me.

“No, no — you don’t need to be a 19-year-old, 6' ft, 92-lb waif. You are a sexy mama — this skirt was basically made for you and all of your mama curves.”

I was convinced. After all, some of the Instagram influencers rocking them are moms! Let’s ignore that they are also all former swimsuit models. Body positivity baby! Let’s do this.

So I did.

I came home, took my loot out of the fancy Target bag, and showed it to my spouse. He looked at the denim garment, then looked at me, cocked his head like a puppy, and asked what on earth it was.

I laughed and showed him my hand, dismissing him — the fashion plebe he is.

I went to my room, tried it on, and came waddling out like a Kimono-wearing lady from an old Japanese film. Or from a terribly un-PC American film.

“Ta-daaaa!!!” I yelled with enthusiastic jazz hands.

“Wow,” said my unenthusiastic spouse. “That’s um, that’s interesting.”

He obviously should have quit at “wow.”

“It’s this season’s hottest trend.” I snapped. “I don’t make the rules mmm-kay?”

“I’m getting some bad flashbacks to high school,” he said, walking away, sounding defeated.

“What’s old is hot again!” I yelled after him.

“That was never hot. I assure you.”

Challenge accepted.

I shuffled back to my room and put on some white sneakers to jazz it up a bit.

While I was busy admiring the fashion masterpiece I had created, my dickwad dog sneaked in and grabbed some freshly laundered underwear from the basket.

“Damnit!” I yelled as I attempted to run after him. But I couldn’t run, as my legs were bound together in a tight swath of dark blue denim.

So, I did what any sane person would do and tried to hop, potato-sack style after the mischievous little underwear thief.

‘Twas not my fault someone in my household left a shoe in my path that was completely obscured by the long piece of denim covering most of my body.

I tripped over the shoe and face-planted on the ground. I now looked like a giant, long, blue hot dog.

I couldn’t get back up — the skirt was too damn constricting, so I started to wriggle and writhe.

My dog came in, thong dangling from his mouth, and stepped on me. “Asshat,” I grumbled.

My husband followed and looked down at the writhing pile of denim on the floor.

“You okay?” he asked, not trying hard enough to contain his laughter. “How’s that skirt working out?” he added, extending a hand to hoist me to my feet.

“It’s fantastic,” I said, straightening it out. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get the kids.”

I waddled to the garage and side-stepped down the stairs.

“You going to be able to drive in that thing?” My fashion-challenged spouse called after me.

I realized there was no chance in hell I’d be able to drive in it, but getting back up the stairs seemed even more impossible.

I slithered into my car as if I was about to ride a horse 1880’s side-saddle style, hoisted the skirt up above my knees, and off I went.

My trendy-ass skirt made its first (and last) outing that day.

It now sits among other equally sad fashion attempts — like the oversized, fringe denim jacket — in the depths of my closet, waiting for its big opportunity in the form of an offer from a trend-gone-wrong hunter on Poshmark.

Next up: wide-leg everything. Stay tuned.