Let’s clear the air: my affection for leggings runs deep and is undeniably genuine. These stretchy wonders have supported me through times of bloating that could rival a water balloon and those moments when the thought of squeezing into anything with a button sends me into a mild panic. After a long day of holding in my post-baby belly, there’s nothing quite like slipping into my favorite yoga pants or leggings. I can practically hear my abs sigh in relief as I pull on my cozy fleece-lined leggings. Just the other day, I nearly knocked my kid over as my stomach exploded out of my dress pants like a slingshot.
Leggings get it. They’re the ultimate ally for a mom’s ever-changing body.
I understand the appeal, but I’m still not buying your LuLaRoe leggings, so please, stop asking me!
For those unfamiliar, LuLaRoe leggings are the latest craze among moms. The mere mention of the brand sends its fans into a frenzy, lighting up like holiday décor on overdrive. I have friends who rave about how fabulous their LuLaRoe options are, their eyes glazing over in bliss as they revel in the soft fabric hugging their thighs. Entire Facebook groups are dedicated to buying and selling these leggings, and it’s wild to see so many women battling it out for an overpriced staple of the mom wardrobe.
Curious about the hype, I once asked a friend what made LuLaRoe leggings so special. Looking me dead in the eye, she replied, “They feel like butter on your legs.” But she didn’t say “butter,” she pronounced it “buttah” in a way that reminded me of an old sketch. It turns out, “they feel like buttah” is the go-to description for these leggings, and honestly, if I hear it one more time, I might just throw a stick of actual butter at LuLaRoe.
Now, before you get your LuLaRoe in a twist, let me say that I genuinely respect anyone who hustles to support their family. Hosting pop-up parties, juggling fluctuating inventory, and keeping customers happy while making it to preschool on time is no small feat—kudos to you! But seriously, there has to be a less chaotic way to shop than wading through a Facebook sea of leggings while fighting off fellow moms, right?
While I can appreciate that wearing leggings that “feel like buttah” must be amazing, the sales tactics leave much to be desired. Unless you’ve been living in a cave, you’ve probably been added to a LuLaRoe Facebook group without your consent. Consultants invite their entire friend list and then pressure them to recruit more friends for a chance at free clothes. Last week, I was added to my 36th LuLaRoe group during an “add party,” and my inbox was instantly overwhelmed with 50 posts from an overly enthusiastic consultant filled with exclamation points. Is this how we’re supposed to shop for clothes now?
No, thank you!
I’m sure those leggings are comfy as can be. I’m sure angels sing when you slide them over your tired mom hips. But honestly, if they were that fantastic, wouldn’t I be able to score them at Target? Wouldn’t Amazon offer them for easy purchase during my Prime and Wine shopping sprees on the couch?
If you want me to consider buying your product, LuLaRoe, make it simple! I deal with enough chaos in my day without having to jump through hoops to buy a pair of leggings.
Another reason I’ll never know the joy of slipping into buttery LuLaRoe leggings is that I refuse to push my friends into a high-pressure sales scenario. I need my friends for carpool, and I’m not willing to risk our friendship over convincing them that leggings adorned with watermelon slices are a good idea. Seriously, pizza slice leggings? Go home, you’re intoxicated.
I attempted to exit a LuLaRoe group three times last week. Three times! Forget building walls; let’s station LuLaRoe consultants at the border. They’d keep everyone out for sure.
And just so we’re clear: the next person who adds me to a LuLaRoe group is getting a swift kick to the LuLaButthole, understood?
On top of the high-pressure sales and questionable patterns, the price of these buttery leggings is outrageous. At nearly $40 each, I feel like I’m being sold leggings made of gold leaf or something. I work hard for my money, and while self-care is essential, I’m not spending that much on leggings that feature giant pizza slices.
I don’t have the time to scroll through endless photo albums, add a hundred friends to a group, and beg a consultant to let me buy a simple black pair of LuLaRoes. No thanks, I’m happy with my Target leggings, where I can also grab a coffee!
LuLaRoe consultants, it’s time to chill out.
If anyone needs me, I’ll be liberating myself from LuLaRoe group hell once again and giving my Jamberried middle finger to overpriced leggings.
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In summary, while LuLaRoe leggings may have a devoted following, their sales tactics and pricing leave much to be desired. I appreciate the hustle but prefer a more straightforward shopping experience.