I have a decently sized collection of jeans. But even though my trouser drawer is filled with 15 or so pairs, only one and a half pairs truly fits – in a way that looks good and feels fucking great. The others, right now, are too big, and do nothing for me. They’re not roomy enough to be boyfriend jeans or chic mom jeans; they don’t look model off duty-ish. They get baggy and stretched out by lunchtime. They just look…uninspired, ill-fitting, haphazard. But they say something about what I’ve held onto: a forgiving, weight-fluctuation-friendly selection of pairs in larger sizes, once better-looking on a larger me. And what I’ve allowed myself to let go of: jeans that I, at some point, stopped being able to wriggle into. Jeans that likely could’ve fit me really well now – if only I’d kept them.