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Alright, here’s my confession: I own a pair of LuLaRoe leggings. Just one pair, but my daughter has them too. They were sent to us for free a while back in exchange for a social media shoutout. And honestly, I have mixed feelings. For starters, I wasn’t fond of any patterns offered to me, so I picked the least offensive one, which clashes with nearly everything in my closet. BUT, I have to admit, they are the most comfortable leggings I’ve ever worn. Seriously, it’s like wearing butter. Do they sculpt and lift like those pricey Lululemon or Spanx leggings? Definitely not. Do I care? Not at all. Comfort is my love language, even if the color is a strange green adorned with orange triangles. (Seriously, what is this pattern?)
As for my daughter, she hit the jackpot with a pair featuring adorable foxes. They also came in a weird color (maybe burnt orange?), but she wore them for ages. They’re a size 5, and she still rocks them as capris, even in 5th grade.
My point? I understand the allure of LuLaRoe. During the peak of the legging craze and the “be your own boss” movement, many of us fell for it. Their leggings were comfy and affordable, so we bought—oh boy, did we buy! And many of us even tried selling them ourselves.
That’s when things took a turn for the worse.
I have a few LuLaRoe pieces, and while I receive compliments, I can’t deny that much of it is quite ugly (although not all).
Confessional #25792393: “I don’t feel great in my LuLaRoe leggings, but wow! They’re so comfy and forgiving!”
Confessional #11459400: “Just last week, I thought LuLaRoe was ridiculous. Now I have 9 pairs and I’m never wearing ‘real’ pants again!”
Confessional #1783796: “This toxic MLM lured in women with one simple need—comfort. We’re on the floor with toddlers, running errands, changing diapers, and we just want some comfy pants. We don’t care if the patterns resemble hotel carpets because we’re covered in messes anyway.” (And LuLaRoe said, “We got you.”)
I despise LuLaRoe, but I saw a pair of Winnie the Pooh leggings and ended up joining two groups and ordering three pairs. I missed out on my “unicorn” pair, the original ones I wanted! They got my money and my soul.
Confessional #11261199: “I have to motivate myself to have sex by promising myself three new pairs of LuLaRoe leggings if I go through with it. What have I become? I used to love it; now I’m obsessed with leggings.”
Confessional #6501706: “I don’t know what’s worse: admitting I own LuLaRoe leggings or that they don’t fit me anymore!”
So yes, many of us got sucked into the LuLaRoe phenomenon. Looking back, we were oblivious, but our drawers filled up quickly.
Confessional #4988949: “I’ve been at work for 7 hours and all I’ve accomplished is finding the LuLaRoe Disney Randy I wanted!”
Confessional #2813385: “I spent over a THOUSAND $$ on LuLaRoe in the last two weeks! I discovered it a month ago and now I’m addicted. I think I need to give up shopping for Lent.”
Confessional #1772169: “My husband would be furious if he knew how much I’ve spent on LuLaRoe lately.”
Confessional #1768691: “LuLaRoe is going to make me bankrupt.”
As our closets filled up, our bank accounts dwindled. Our partners watched in confusion as we sported an ever-rotating collection of eye-catching leggings, often adorned with peculiar patterns.
Confessional #25790611: “It annoys me when my sister-in-law calls herself a ‘small business owner.’ You sell LuLaRoe clothing, not running a business! Stop buying inventory; 10,000 items in your garage is just debt.”
Confessional #15322468: “My friend is so obsessed with LuLaRoe that I think she has a mental disorder. Her closet must have 300 LLR shirts, and she’s always broke.”
Confessional #24867015: “I’m embarrassed for my college friend selling Posh and LuLaRoe.”
Confessional #7726922: “I think LuLaRoe tights are ugly! I can’t say it out loud because my friend sells them, but I unfollowed her on Facebook because I got tired of the annoying videos and live sales.”
Maybe you never fell for the LuLaRoe trap and saw through the MLM nonsense from the start, but chances are you know someone who did. You probably cringed as they invited you to “host a party.” (No thanks, Kathy.)
I totally support my friends who love LuLaRoe, but I think it often looks like hotel carpet.
Confessional #5021799: “I never jumped on the LuLaRoe train. No grown woman should wear pizza slices, puppies, or cheeseburgers. Plus, the refusal to sell solid colors was just silly.”
Confessional #23172157: “Every time I see their promo photos, I want to puke. Those outfits are atrocious!”
Confessional #22633716: “I think 99% of LuLaRoe is hideous, which is unfortunate since so many of my Facebook friends sell it.”
The patterns were bizarre; who thought making everyone look like they were wearing dental office rugs would be appealing? Yet, it worked—clearly, they had a strategy.
I don’t think anyone looks good in LuLaRoe. I don’t get the love.
Confessional #21193742: “I don’t understand the LuLaRoe leggings obsession. Do I have to turn in my woman card now?”
Confessional #3353446: “I find LuLaRoe and Lipsense overpriced and tacky.”
Confessional #7978786: “Most LuLaRoe clothes are frumpy. I just don’t get the appeal.”
If you avoided this trend, you might have felt like an outsider while everyone around you hosted LuLaRoe parties. “Girls’ night! Drink wine and shop!” and you thought, “Why would I do that?” Most of us see the light now, recognizing how flawed the MLM model—especially this one—was. Those Winnie the Pooh leggings weren’t the bargain we believed them to be.
The reality is, the LuLaRoe cult was real, and MLMs still target women today. Keep an eye on your friends. Support them if they’re on a sound investment path, but if they’re pouring money into a scheme that pressures them to harass friends and family, it’s time to step in and call it out. Protect your friends before it’s too late.
And even more importantly, safeguard yourself.
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Summary:
The article explores the author’s experience with LuLaRoe leggings and the broader implications of MLMs, particularly how they target women seeking comfort and financial independence. Many women found themselves caught in the LuLaRoe craze, accumulating unworn and brightly patterned leggings, often leading to financial strain. The piece encourages readers to be vigilant about MLMs and support friends pursuing genuine business opportunities.