"You should never wear sweatpants. Like, ever."

One summer in my early teens, I attended a co-ed sleep-away camp for the first time. I didn't have a ton of friends at home, so I was thrilled when the coolest kids at camp somehow deemed me worthy enough to be in their elite inner circle. 

It was the early 2000s, and midriff-bearing tops with Juicy Couture sweatpants were super popular. Protected by a cluster of popular friends, I strutted around camp like I owned the place, shrouding my long, gangly legs in sweatpants and mini tank tops. I felt free and beautiful and cool. 

There was one guy at camp who I had a crush on, but I was too shy to do anything. At that point, I had never had a boyfriend or kissed anyone. I got his AIM screen name, and once camp was over I started talking to him online. Maybe it was my newfound confidence that came with my brief stint as a popular girl, or maybe it was the safety of my computer screen, but I got up the courage to ask him what he thought about me. 

It took him a while to get it out, but eventually he told me, "You should never wear sweatpants. Like, ever." 

Apparently he and the rest of the guys all decided that I should not be allowed to wear sweatpants because they looked wrong on me with my long legs. 

I wish I could say that after that moment, I realized what a loser this guy was, and how dare he have the audacity to think he had the authority to tell me what I could and couldn't wear. 

But as a shy kid who just wanted to fit in, I felt like I had done something wrong, like I had failed. I felt ashamed. I stopped wearing sweatpants.