SKINNY JEANS ARE ON THE WAY OUT,

If you were bored — or desperate — enough to care about fashion during the past months of the nerve-wracking pandemic, you’ll clearly remember that sweatpants became a symbol and a statement of the Year of Upheaval. Suddenly, sweats were trendy. Stylish. Snazzy. And they didn’t mean you had given up, only that you had adapted.

One report claimed sales of those elastic-waist bottoms soared 40% in the first week of the March 2020 lockdown as women traded their pencil skirts and men their gabardine slacks for comfort. Some in the know hailed it as a revolution in office wear, a natural step after business casual. Sweats hadn’t received such recognition since Sly Stallone had rocked them in gray during certain unforgettable scenes in “Rocky.”

I own a couple of sweatpants, though I rarely wear them. Miami is too hot, too humid, too everything to don such heavy fabric. At any rate, my keeping-cool choice may not matter because sweatpants are quickly becoming yesteryear’s fad. Hardly anyone talks about them anymore, partially because we are trickling back into offices but also because another closet staple has taken over the headlines.

The death knell is sounding for skinny jeans.

Let me announce that uplifting news in a few different ways. Skinny jeans are over. Skinny jeans are history. Skinny jeans are kaput. Skinny jeans are headed the way of shoulder pads and big hair. (Remember those?)

In the thrilling news category, this rates second only to the December announcement that the Pfizer vaccine had received emergency approval — a clear sign that we would eventually crawl out of the hellhole that COVID-19 dug for us. And like the rollout of vaccines, the demise of skinny jeans signals a release from a certain self-imposed confinement.

Of course, I understand (and agree) that the importance and impact of these two momentous events are vastly different. Nevertheless, breaking the bonds of any kind of captivity is certainly worth a celebratory moment.

I also want to acknowledge the many women who still believe skinnies are the perfect pants for tunics or boots, whether in classical denim or in animal print. They are, they are. But me, I’ve long thought them uncomfortable, all that shimmying and shoving my bottom into stretchy fabric. I may be tall and thin, have been most of my life apart from the Botticelli roundness of pregnancy, but wearing skinny jeans made me feel like a sausage. The fabric pinched here, squeezed there, and compressed pretty much everywhere. I owned a skinny jean many moons ago — one of my many fashion faux pas — but donated it to a devotee within the year. I didn’t shed a single tear.

I like to think age has given me, and others, the wisdom to dance to a separate fashion beat. Yet, we owe a hearty thanks to a much, much younger demographic for the skinnies’ banishment. The TikToking, social mediasavvy Generation Z has been credited for pushing uncomfortable clothing to the background. Yes, they’re all in for c.o.m.f.o.r.t.

As in loose-fitting jeans. Wide leg. Flared. With a little skoosh of space around the hips. Or what some used to deprecate as “mom jeans.”

Now Hollywood stars such as Sarah Jessica Parker have been photographed wearing baggy jeans. Others have stepped out in kick-flare styles, rolled-up hems, and “vintage-inspired, high-waisted straight-leg” denims. My heart practically sings at the images.

I should, however, offer a disclaimer. I’m not a maven of style even on my best days, and no one with a sense of flair should take advice from me. I keep all my clothes for years and still own a well-worn but sturdy pair of Levi’s that pre-dates my children. I plan to move this antique to the front of the closet rack.

Surely fitting into a collectable is an accomplishment worthy of inclusion in my future obituary.