Sometimes my room looks like a dressing room. I tell myself to only take what I need out of my closet as the clothes topple over my bed. “To shove or not to shove in the corner?” I ask myself. If I leave the mess on my bed, I’ll have to deal with it later. If I shove it in the corner, maybe I can pretend it’s a piece of art. Eventually, I muster up the strength to put my runway material back where it belongs; sometimes, I find something old that seems new.
I stumbled across one of my old dance recital leotards on Monday. I haven’t grown much over the years, and I have been about the same measurements, so I still wear clothes and shoes that I’ve had since I was 11. I took dance when I was 11, so I figured I’d try on this vintage garment just for the heck of it. (Not) to my surprise, it fit like a glove. My major problem with my leotard is: I cannot go anywhere in it without some coverage. I also didn’t like the sleeves. Though I had minor concerns, I knew I could put it to good use.
After cutting off the sleeves (sorry, but I did not take photos of what it looked like before), I tried it on with my black skinny jeans. I was quite satisfied with the look. There are ruffles around the waist which make the leotard look like a top when worn with any bottoms. Worn with my jeans, it looks like a dressy tank top blouse with the color blocked black and red, thick spaghetti straps, ruched front, and faux diamond embellishments around the waist. See for yourself!
No, leotards don’t have those awkward baby onesie snaps at the crotch area like bodysuits do, but they’re no more restricting than jump suits. The main thing is that the leotard is comfortable enough to move in, sit in, dance in, and breathe in. If you’ve got those down, then you’re good to go!
Thank you lovelies,
R’Nelle CyRe’ XX