Nail clippers. This is the best way to tear off your new tights and give them the perfect slip on your legs. Crude but stylish, dilapidated but purposeful. You see, all you have to do is pinch the nylon fabric against your thigh, cut it off, and drag it. Ran easily slips in both directions, leaving you with completely torn black tights.
In the mid to late 2000s, this was my daily routine. I got some cheap tights in the back aisle of CVS. It came in a small plastic bowl with a pale pink top and cost $1.99. I got out my nail clippers, did the surgery, and was on my way. I usually paired it with a big crewneck sweatshirt or a button-down shirt I bought at a thrift store. Tights were sometimes worn with oversized T-shirts or men’s henleys. Pants were rarely involved.
Opportunity didn’t matter. Sometimes this was my go-to outfit for a 7 a.m. class at a stuffy Upper East Side college, and other times I’d go out all night to the Club du Jour, where I’d choose my outfit. It felt like a rebellious response to Léger’s bandage dress.
But there was something I was chasing at the time. Indie sleaze is the retrospective label it has been given. It was an era of style fueled by an overwhelming sense that the way we interacted with and experienced culture was coming to an end forever. The social media boom is becoming faster and more powerful day by day. Our lives were moving more and more online, but we didn’t realize what the consequences would be. We were at the last moment of living a life where we could know who we were without being completely informed by an algorithm. Still, the internet existed to share our interests, but you could also find them in music stores and vintage shops.
The changes for me were subtle. Sure, I’m more of an adult, no longer the 18-year-old who worked in offices and nice restaurants and spent hours at the Salvation Army trying to find my style on a budget of about $30. Still, I was influenced by something much bigger. Fast fashion trends have moved on rapidly and vintage stores have become more selective. Aesthetics, core, and hot girl summer and French girl chic and quiet luxury have used up all the unique outfits I’ve ever had. Despite my best efforts to resist problematic trend cycles, I have felt frustrated trying to overcome my inherent need to fit in and the desperate need to stand out.
So when I think about my years of wearing ripped tights, I think of someone who had a keen sense of style. Someone who wasn’t afraid to have their own style, even if people didn’t like it. Because no matter what the environment, I wore what made me feel and what I heard, and it didn’t matter what other people thought.
I don’t know if I’ll go back to intentionally tearing up my tights or wearing my shirts as dresses that are a little too short, but in 2025, my style resolution is to find that girl again. I chose the style because I was really drawn to it. I discovered them, wore them on a dare, and they weren’t given to me by an algorithm that shoves us all into the sad beige middle.
