Know your ass like you know your face, people.

For much of the mid-to-late 90's and most of the 2000's, they were the joke item of clothing that you would threaten to wear out in public for the sole purpose of embarrassing your friends.  Again.  Having personally spent much of the 80's in them with varying degrees of success, they were the one item I swore would make me move to a nudist colony if they came back in style- kind of so that I wouldn't be tempted to go down that road again, mostly so that I wouldn't ever have to see other women fail miserably in an attempt to pull off this very tricky article of clothing.

Leggings.

Now that these stretchy, minimal, pant-LIKE things are back in fashion, and since they don't seem to be going away any time soon, I'd like to remind the world of a few guidelines that one may wish to follow when donning these pantyhose-disguised-as-pants:

1. Stop, for the love of all that is holy, STOP thinking of these as full-fledged pants. They aren't, so just knock it off already.  
2. Check for sheerness when they are stretched beyond their original made-for-toddlers shape.  If they only get more sheer (and shiny) as they stretch, DON'T BUY THEM.  At best, these will look like cheap tights, at worst you'll look like a human kielbasa.  This isn't a time to cheap out and impulse-buy something at the gas station checkout- go to a real, adult clothing store and spend a few bucks, damnit. 
3. (And this one is the most important one of all) Unless you are an under-21 year-old with impeccably perfect, toned legs and butt area...COVER YER DAMN ASS WITH A SHIRT/SKIRT PLEASE.  I beg you. Whether you're skinny, curvy, smooth or lumpy, after a certain age or after a certain weight this is absolutely necessary.  No one, and I mean no one wants to see your hinder in clingy spandex as an "outfit".  This is not an "outfit".  You think you look good?  Well, you don't.  

 Do I own a pair?  Yup.  But I'll tell you this- If you ever, EVER spot me walking down the street, grocery shopping, bending over to pick change up off the ground or basically doing anything outside of the privacy of my own shameful home wearing these without an appropriately long shirt/sweater/poncho made of cat hair that covers my lovely ass, then I will happily run down my street naked & waving an "I love Newt Gingrich" flag.  For an hour.  In the snow.  I'm just that confident that you'll never see such a thing. 

It's all about knowing your ass, people. 
Know.  Your.  Ass.