Yoga pants were designed for men.
I bet you are scratching your head...
What the fuck?
People, we have new evidence that she has lost it!
Nope, just finding humor in the breakdown of the night before...
So my girlfriend and I went out last night. We do this sometimes. We go out to dinner and then go sit in a fun bar and soak up the energy. We are not trolling for men, neither of us the kind of woman that is going to meet someone at a bar and end up back at their place. Or even worse, bring them back to ours. Motherhood affords one certain boundaries that reign in opportunities for debauchery.
More so, we are putting ourselves in the way of the world. Getting away from the mendacity of our rather simple, yet complicated lives. For a night, we are younger again, possibilities endless and open.
We rarely meet anyone. Last night was different. The place we went for dinner crowded and hopping. Celebritized in its patronage. It was bustling and fun. We ate at the bar because without a reservation, we were not eating there. This caused us to be in close proximity with others with the same fate. This also caused us to be thoroughly entertained.
Let me start with saying that I had the best hashbrowns I have ever had! I know weird thing to eat at a bar but they were DELICIOUS! There was not really room to order a full meal, and I am never all that hungry anyway. We ate while being jostled around by the many people in a tight space. The fact that we got seats at all due to the chivalry of business men. They gave us their seats, we gave them some attention.
I haven’t been out in a bar in awhile where the goal of anyone was to get lucky. It was an interesting dynamic and seemingly one that provides dividends...these guys go to this same bar every time they are in town. Now when we arrived, they were mostly already in the bag. Drunk enough to talk to us, too drunk to make much sense. Being a non-drinker, I have a low tolerance for slurred speech and being hardly able to stand. Its unattractiveness the only thing that I can see. So we sat there talking to these men in a loud bar solely for entertainment value.
They seem unaccustomed to women not wanting them to buy them drinks. They were a bit shocked when I said no to them buying our dinner. This was a free exchange. While they gave us their cards, I wanted to be really clear that this exchange while seated on bar stools was as far as our relationship would ever get. When we were done eating, we left. We, ready, to move on with our night and not interested in them, their money or continuing the conversation. It was a lively, fun exchange that ended much the same way it began.
Their reaction to us was interesting. It was clear that they were marginally successful in making a different type of connection with women they meet at this bar. It was clear that they were there to meet a woman to ease the loneliness of their jet set lifestyle. I hope they found it...although only one of them sober enough to have been able to enjoy a more intimate encounter...
We then went to another bar, known for good music, a great vibe and kind of our default Saturday night location. There is always a good mix of people and since it is a piano bar, a lot of audience participation. The piano man pretty wonderful at making perfect strangers feel like old friends. There we talked about life, relationships, who we were dating (or not), what we were thinking about and expecting from men, etc. The usual female chatter. We talk about other things also, but our nights out on the town punctuated by attention to our femaleness. Stepping out of our roles as mother and worker, trying to give a little energy to who we were before marriage and children.
We spent a little while just singing and enjoying the atmosphere. People watching. Reveling in our short lived freedom from all of the responsibility our lives entail. Transported back in time to a place where it was only us that we thought and worried about. Free to choose our fate, unmoored from responsibility, duty and commitment. We spend perhaps one night a month like this, maybe two. Both of us trying to connect to something that we remember fondly but are both clueless as to how we bring about to our current lives.
We ended up talking to another group of men, also from out of town. Interesting fellows, one very drunk and in the bag, the other not and much easier to talk to. My friend attempted to hold the conversation with the drunker of the two, not by choice, just by circumstance. And this would be where the starting quotation came from...
He firing off all kinds of stuff: photos of his jets, posh lifestyle, money. His stories and conversation topics jumping from money, to sex and then off on some random topic that seriously made no sense. She mostly listened and likely thought about how much she would rather be home...alone.
In his efforts to make some sort of connection with her, he would delve into topic areas that were way over his alcohol addled mind could handle. Resulting in non-sequiturs like - “let me tell you something inappropriate, yoga pants were really made for men.”
I am sure there is likely a point to the above comment. However, we will never know what that point is or was because the speaker too drunk to be able to follow it up with a coherent story that was followable. We were tired and took our leave after a little bit. Nice guys who were respectful and kind. I spent my time talking about divorce and relationships as I am want to do. Seems like I find all of my conversations leading me back to a conversation about how men and women, capable of great love and connection, seemingly do a better job at fucking it up.
On our way home, we laughed. Not at the men who punctuated our evening but just at the ridiculousness of the entire evening. The conversation, the shallow attempt to connect to women through money, our own misguided attempts to feel like there was some greater life out there that we were missing. As we drove home, we discussed past relationships and our then misguided attempts to find meaning, connection and love. How despite the passage of decades, we were really no further along on our quest.
This all leads me to tell you something inappropriate, I do think that yoga pants were created for men. A marketing reps brilliant ploy to get men into yoga studios, put all the women in tight pants that leave nothing to the imagination. Clothing that clings to each bodies curvature, smoothing out rear ends so that downward facing dog becomes fodder for later thought. Sexualizing yogic workouts so that men’s participation is really a twofer. One, a work out. Two, images that can be used later.
I can honestly say that I now completely agree that yoga pants were not created for women. We wear them because they are easy, and allow us to stretch and move freely as our bodies are twisted and turned in an effort to encourage suppleness and flexibility. The pants more emblematic of our willingness to push ourselves past our comfort zone. And that my friends, is what I saw everyone doing last night, donning clothing that would encourage interest and engagement. Yoga pants in evening form. All the bodies, comingled in search of a posture that can be maintained for as long as the time allows. A moment, a night, forever.
In the end, I saw a lot of people hungry for more than a drink and meal. I saw a lot of persons, lonely and in search of another to call home. Women sending messages through our outer layer, wanting and needing to be seen for what resides below. Men, responding to the beacon, with interest and longing. Sex being the commonly traded commodity for connection and intimacy. Both genders likely getting it all wrong. In the end, we all seem to lack the courage to delve a little deeper, beyond the superficial, into the intimate. Seemingly all afraid that to do anything else too risky to our own fragility. Middle age becoming a place void of depth of connection due to apathy and fear from all that failed before. As I drifted off last night, I wondered how wrong am I getting it? How many opportunities to connect am I missing? How honest am I being in what I am seeking? Perhaps, I need to retire the yoga pants (or their night time equivalent) long enough to allow interest to come from what lies more deeply underneath.
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