Yes, I Know I Have a LuLaRoe Problem

Yes, I Know I Have a LuLaRoe Problem


Recently at my neighbor’s house, her ten-year-old son asked a simple enough question, something to the effect of “what’s the deal with LuLaRoe – why is it so popular?”

In the span of just a few weeks last year, I went from only vaguely having heard of LuLaRoe to belonging to ten LLR Facebook groups and owning more pieces than I’d like to admit. So I have a thing or two to say about the brand’s appeal.

But I’m sure this young man was not expecting a twenty-minute monologue from his crazy, perpetually leggings-clad neighbor. So I kept my answer brief. But here’s how I could have responded to explain at least my own obsession with LuLaRoe (and I promise not to rhapsodize about the leggings feeling like a certain dairy product I dare not name).

After baby #2, I couldn’t fit into my old jeans but refused to buy new ones for what I hoped would be the temporary state of my body. I kept wearing my maternity pants, but most of my shirts weren’t quiiite long enough to keep that awkward-ass belly band from peeking out. I basically felt like a slovenly mess 90% of the time. Some mornings I burst into tears staring into the abyss of my closet. It sucked.

And then down from the sky on a magical moonbeam came LuLaRoe. The cute patterned leggings meant I could buy bottoms that would continue to fit my body as it made its way back to (at least the proximity of) my former shape. The billowy tops floated away from my midsection, effortlessly concealing the post-baby weirdness formerly known as my stomach. It was love at first LLR pop-up.

And about those online pop-ups – I know they bother some people, but as a mom with young kids they sure as hell beat the alternative. Trying on clothes while you’re carting around small children blows. I don’t actually know this from experience because I’ve never been foolish brave enough to attempt it. I’m just picturing trying to squeeze myself into a complicated strappy top while my one-year-old escapes under the dressing room door, to the sound of my son whining about how boooooring this is.

There’s normal online shopping of course, but the fatal flaw is having to deal with shipping back the clothes if they don’t fit. Ain’t nobody got time for that. The genius of LuLaRoe is that although there are a relatively limited number of styles, it feels like each one has been scientifically engineered to be flattering and forgiving for almost anyone’s body. Clothes that are virtually guaranteed to fit without me having to try them on? Yes please.

And you have to give LuLaRoe credit for the brilliance of their mind games business model. Prints are limited and every consultant has a random and unique inventory. Once a piece is gone, it’s gone. Turning clothes-shopping into a competition is pretty genius, from the company’s perspective. It puts your brain in hunting mode – you search out a pattern you love and then have to POUNCE before it gets away from you. I was totally cognizant of this, but still went slightly crazy assembling my LLR collection.

Leggings and a tunic have become my SAHM uniform. Who knew I could feel cute and put-together in clothes that feel like pajamas? That tailored blazer looks great on the Ann Taylor Loft model, but it’s not exactly the most practical piece for playing “mama jungle gym” on the play room floor.

When I look into my leggings drawer (yes, I have one of those now) and see all those lovely patterns staring back at me, it makes me happy to a genuinely embarrassing degree. I spent who knows how many hours (don’t judge me) scouring LLR sales groups, scrolling past lame pattern after lame pattern until I found the ones that made me fall in love. And most of those pieces I scrolled right by like aw hell no probably made somebody else really happy. And that’s the beauty of it. There are a bajillion patterns out there, so when you pull the trigger and type SOLD, it’s because you’ve found something that you really, truly love.

We *want* to feel good in what we wear, but lots of us end up with boring clothes that are more functional than cute because they were buy 2, get 1 free, were passed along to us from a coworker, or we grabbed them during a Costco run (nothing like picking up your spring wardrobe along with a lifetime supply of toilet paper). When I’m Roe’ing (yes, I just used it as a verb), I feel cute and confident. And that should really be the bottom line.

So that, dear neighbor, is the answer (you absolutely never wanted to hear) about why I love LuLaRoe so much. I realize that not everyone is into the clothes, and it seems like the national LLR frenzy has been cooling down. But I’m just going to keep rocking my ‘Roe.


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