Does your husband really care if you fit into skinny jeans?!

After 17 years of being a full-fledged member of this institution we call marriage, I can say with total and complete certainty that at this point I’m fairly convinced my husband could care less about whether or not I can fit into a pair of skinny jeans. In fact, 95 percent of the time, if I walked around draped in a potato sack, it wouldn’t illicit much of a reaction from him.

As I write this, I’m not quite sure whether the fact that the shape of my body has no bearing on him is actually a good thing. Is it that he loves every last inch of me or it that he’s just quietly resigned himself to living with a wife who has no interest in doing stomach crunches?

Of course, when we initially met, as we rollerbladed in NYC’s Central Park, me in my Daisy Dukes – hair perfectly coiffed and my face decked in full-on eyeshadow and shimmery lip gloss, he told me shortly thereafter that although he was enamored with my skill on blades, my jean shorts, may have fueled his lustful gaze.

But let’s slow down here a second and put things into perspective. During our initial courtship I was the polar opposite of the woman I am today. I was a carefree, unattached 20-something, whose biggest concern was paying my rent and feeding my MAC cosmetics addiction. And that whole “fitting into Daisy Dukes thing,” well back in those days, being that the bulk of my paychecks went to my exorbitant Manhattan rent, I subsisted solely on Diet coke and takeout Chinese egg drop soup.

Fast forward 17 years, two kids, the latter of which was a C-section, which has left me with a permanent kangaroo pouch, and an affinity for shoveling in my kids leftover meals, (heck, how can I possibly toss half-eaten chicken breasts and Kraft macaroni and cheese when there are kids starving in other parts of the world?!), I don’t think I could possibly manage to fit one leg into an entire pair of skinny jeans.

Of course I wasn’t always the hausfrau I’ve recently morphed into. After our first child was born, I was incredibly cognizant of every morsel I consumed — determined to keep my thighs as cellulite-free as I could. I was committed to getting into that coveted tight pair of jeans at all costs and even attempted a few fad diets in order to do so… They didn’t work. But then I had my second child, and the responsibilities of motherhood, coupled with the usual round-up of deadlines, homework, play dates and, yes, one too many pieces of butter cream frosted cake on the kids’ birthday party circuit, pushed getting into a pair of tight jeans slightly lower on my list of priorities.

Do I care? Only on the rare occasion that my husband and I both happened to be watching TV together (usually we retreat to our respective places in the house — where I can get my fix of Bravo’s Millionaire Matchmaker and he whatever sport is being televised — although I think he’d draw the line at curling). Lo and behold we were front and center for the Victoria Secret Fashion show, where models vamped it up in barley-there bras and panties. My initial reaction was to grab the remote and change the channel, but then I waited to see what my husband’s reaction would be to these perfect specimens of the female persuasion who could give any of us moms a run for our money.

I’m not going to lie — I saw his eyes widen a bit as a bronzed, raven-haired, Brazilian Angel swept across the stage, spilling out of a barely-there push up bra. Oh, did I mention that his look is dark-skin and I’m just about the pastiest white girl on this planet who needs to slap on SPF 50 when just the tiniest bit of sun pokes through the clouds? But I digress… For a moment, my heart sank as I looked down at my attire: A pair of my grandma’s finest flannel pajamas and my hair in a bun.

So I asked him point blank, “Do you wish I looked like that?” a question no husband would dare answer with the statement, “Yes, actually you could stand to lose about 20 pounds. He said, and I quote, “Honey, you are still as beautiful and sexy to me as that first day we met when you went rollerblading in your shorts and eyeshadow.” OK, so now I know he’s lying, or at the very least stretching the truth, but I’ll take it.

So does your husband really care if you can fit into skinny jeans? Probably not. And that is why God invented elastic.


  1. Kia says

    Oh the damn c-section pouch thing..I totally get that. I'm usually glad to fit into jeans that fit and look good. They don't need to be skinny but they do need to look good.

  2. The New Witty's says

    oh i totally love this post! i've been wondering that myself as I've just given birth to my son 3 months ago and I"m trying hard to at least get down to 150… i wonder if he still wishes i looked like that. you know how they always are, "you're beautiful, I love you the way you are"….but it's all crap–you KNOW they wouldn't mind you being hot like you once were…haha!

  3. nursem says

    I don't think the husbands care as much as WE care. I have the need to fit into skinny jeans, not him. I really believe they love all our parts, squooshy and firm. I mean, seriously, do they look as good as when they were dating us??

  4. says

    My weight has fluctuated over the years and after three kids he says I have gained some sexy hips! Now when I try to lose weight he warns me not to lose my curves 🙂

  5. says

    As the token dude response, he’s almost certainly telling the truth. Beauty when you meet someone may be a pair of short-shorts, or the top that’s cut slightly too low. Beauty after you’ve been with someone, seen them first thing in the mornings, stayed up late in comfy pajamas? That’s about the way her eyes look when she’s glancing across the room at you, or the shape of her back when she reaches for something on a high shelf.

    Romance and perfect ideals is great, for a while. Romance in the long term isn’t about settling, or lowering expectations, it’s about seeing the real ways she’s beautiful, even when she is convinced she couldn’t look worse today.

  6. Michelle Ansel says

    My husband definitely appreciates my dedication to trying to look my best but I know he wouldn’t love me less if I gained a few! Love your blog!!!

  7. says

    you know, i don’t have kids and i’m not married and STILL i don’t fit into skinny jeans. i wear a size 2 by the way and STILL do not fit skinny jeans thanks to my huge calves. yes, indeed, the skinny jeans stop right there and don’t go above the knee.
    there are people, skinny or not, who just don’t fit these. don’t reduce yourself to just looks. life is more important than fitting into a certain style of pants.

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