Less Is Fabulous.

If you don’t know Lucy, make her acquaintance. I’m not talking Lucille Ball, I’m talking a niche store with the chicest, most indestructible performance apparel known to womankind. Lucy claims to combine “a mix of high-tech fabrics, precise fit and a stylist’s eye,” to basically create killer one-of-a-kind gear. This retailer delivers big time. I’m such a raving fan that I read the About section of www.Lucy.com, where I learned of their claim to fame. Because I can’t get enough Lucy (and I’m a nerd), I also read their Terms, where I discovered they prohibit linking to their site without written permission. So that’s why no link. Let’s not make Lucy mad.

Lucy pants are the object of my affection.

I discovered the store at Town Square in 2008 and spent 45 minutes in the dressing room agonizing over my pant options. Six sizes! Three lengths! Options for all body types! I was about to purchase my perfect everything pants. And I finally did. They set me back $78. I’ve never looked back.

“STOP RIGHT THERE, SISTER. I THOUGHT THIS BLOG WAS ABOUT LIVING SIMPLY WITH LESS.”

That’s exactly what it’s about. It’s also about making good purchasing decisions. For me, spending $78 on pants that I’ve easily worn 150 times (they have years left in them) makes much more sense than doing the buy-and-replace shuffle. Why buy $29 pants marked down to $17.99 only to have to replace them after a few tumbles in wash? I don’t want to wear faded, misshapen, fuzz-balled pants with the hems coming undone just because they were a bargain. I also don’t want to spend time looking for cheap replacement pants. I really don’t want to own pants that cost $3.60 per wear when I can have Lucy pants that could quite possibly cost just a dime per wear before they need to be replaced.

And therein lies my love of Lucy pants.

They don’t fade, shrink, wrinkle or stretch out.

I’ve worn them to run.
I’ve worn them to the ER.
I’ve worn them to yoga.
I’ve worn them to vote.
I’ve worn them to garden.
I’ve worn them to Ireland.
I’ve worn them to hike.
I’ve worn them to Bellagio.
I’ve worn them to bed.
I’ve worn them to make Thanksgiving dinner.

I’ve worn them to the Goodwill truck to donate faded, misshapen, fuzz-balled pants with the hems coming undone. Garments I perceived to be bargains.

I have one perfect pair of Lucy pants. I don’t need more.

Less is fabulous.