Does Gigi Hadid’s Athleisure Work in Real Life? Here’s What Happened When One Vogue Writer Spent a Week in Sweats

Blame it on the gym resolutions sparked by spring’s arrival or the uptick in sportswear on the Fall 2018 runways, but the athleisure movement shows no signs of slowing down. Add to this the fact that models like Gigi Hadid have made the look all but standard, and it’s just short of a state of mind. Hadid, perhaps more than any of her peers, has helped replace what was once the model-off-duty uniform of skinny jeans and a leather biker jacket with upscale sweats and elevated sneakers.

Although the style and its accompanying mentality have been gaining speed for seasons, they had yet to infiltrate this Vogue writer’s own wardrobe. Until recently, I didn’t own sweatpants; my one pair of sneakers was reserved for exercise. Outside of the gym, I tend to favor feminine dresses and smart trousers paired with prim flats for day and some semblance of a heel at night (the higher, the better). As my editor pointed out: “You’re not the kind of girl to wear leggings.” As part of my desire to find the stretch appeal in spandex, we decided that I would fashion six Hadid-worthy looks in order to see if athleisure could pull its weight for a range of scenarios on my iCal in one recent week—be it brunch, the gym, the office, a dinner party, happy hour, or on a first date. Here’s what happened next.

Day 1: Brunch

My weekend routine remains, for the most part, unchanged. I meet my DJ friend Erik for brunch at The Smile—a trendy eatery in the East Village where Hadid is a regular. Except, this time, I will do it in a money-green Cotton Citizen sweatsuit, a Reebok jacket spliced with transparent mesh, and incongruously paired Dr. Martens combat boots in a Liberty floral print, which feel less health goth than a solid black version would. My model muse rarely leaves the house without one of several Stalvey mini bags, and I was able to skip the mile-long waiting list and (temporarily) get my hands on a metallic green version that had yet to hit stores, which made the notion of Hadid-like sweats all the more alluring. The transformation wouldn’t be complete without eyewear: Hadid is said to own more than 500 pairs of sunglasses, and yet I find it’s nothing short of a production to choose between the six styles I have on hand for the next six days. How she makes these all-important decisions each morning while juggling an increasingly demanding modeling career, and still finds time to work out, I’ll never know.

After more deliberation than I’d like to admit, I settle on Illesteva cat-eyes in a pearl-white finish. Unlike in Hadid’s case, there is no paparazzi outside of my apartment on my sleepy street in Park Slope, Brooklyn, but alas, I emerge feeling more comfortable in my supermodel-inspired skin than I could have predicted. For starters, the French terry is downright cozy, and even though the exuberant hue is a marked, if not radical, departure from my mostly neutral color palette, it’s a refreshing change of pace when everyone else on the train is in somber shades of black or gray. When I arrive at The Smile, Erik is thrown by my sporty new appearance and does a literal double take when he sees me. “I really like this hoodie on you,” he says. “It’s cool, the whole getup.” Bemused, he adds: “Since when do you wear sweatpants?” In other words, the look isn’t enough to convince Erik I have any intention of stepping foot inside a gym. But maybe that’s the point.

Day 2: Workout

The next day, I wake up early to book it to a boxing class at Gotham Gym. Hadid credits regular training sessions at the unassuming outpost in the West Village for keeping her in fighting shape, but all body-changing benefits aside, I am uncharacteristically energized by Jonathan Simkhai x Carbon38’s leggings and matching crop top done in a midnight-blue hue and stitched with corset-inspired lacing (a detail Hadid has already been sporting in denim form). Unlike the threadbare sportswear I’d relied on (a yoga pant here; a T-shirt there), these are pieces that make you actually want to work up a sweat. And even though it had been at least a week since my last sit-up, the leggings come with a slimming compression waistband that whittles my midsection to near-Hadid standards. What’s more, the top’s sculpted cups make my modest measurements go va-voom.

I punch it up, so to speak, in DKNY’s silver-dipped anorak that, while featherlight, delivers next-level insulation, then strap on a Chanel backpack in place of a gym bag as usual. When I’m the first to arrive to the 9:00 a.m. G-box class, my eyes land on a window sign that reads: TODAY’S MENU: PAIN. This terrifyingly cheeky slogan (among other unspeakable phrases) is also printed at the top of the stairs that lead to the dimly lit basement with a single ring. There are no Victoria’s Secret Angels throwing punches in brightly colored spandex, and it all feels miles away from the cushy, manicured atmosphere I’d come to expect from stints at boutique boxing destination Rumble. (In fact, it was all I could do not to throw up into my Chanel backpack.) When my classmates trickle in wearing a mix of cut-off T-shirts and mesh gym shorts, I am predictably the subject of some side-eye, including a not-so-subtle lingering stare from a tall blond guy with what appears to be his unsuspecting girlfriend. I tell myself Gigi would never let a little gawking stop her from getting in a workout, and so I harness all of my energy into every jab, cross, and uppercut. Not only did my athleisure carry me through with aplomb (thanks in no small part to the quick-drying performance fabric), it was the subtle reminder I needed to push myself in hopes of coming out looking half as convincing as Gigi in a crop top.

Day 3: Office

On Monday morning, I suit up in Jonathan Simkhai joggers with the same corset-inspired detail, but eschew the matching top in favor of a Donna Karan off-the-shoulder knit that more closely resembles a sweatshirt. The pants are infinitely more polished than denim, and when paired with high-heeled mules in the same shade of gray, they feel appropriate for the office (even for those with less liberal corporate cultures). At our weekly fashion meeting, my athleisure is a runaway hit. As one preternaturally fit colleague openly admits: “I don’t work out, but I would totally wear these.” Another adds: “It’s very sporty chic. And you look so comfortable.” The one element I wasn’t completely at ease with was the lacing; I questioned whether the lingerie-inspired extra had a place between the hours of 9 and 5. Vogue Market Editor Anny Choi dismisses any lingering doubts: “They’re perfect for a night out if you loosen the ties to show a little skin. Tighten them up and it’s business as usual.” Put another way, the sweats didn’t just work, they worked overtime.

Day 4: Dinner Party

The next evening, I am set to attend a dinner party at fashion designer Misha Nonoo’s home in the West Village. For this, I am instantly sold on a Sally LaPointe sweatsuit that I’d seen on Hadid a few months prior. In truth, it’s more glamleisure than athleisure: The cropped sweater is covered in diamanté crystals, and the pants come slashed at the sides for the ultimate luxe-meets-lounge effect. But when the trousers swallow my 5-foot-3 frame, I am forced to substitute a pair of under-$20 H&M joggers instead. One of the many benefits of athleisure, it seems, is that nothing is easier to mix and match. The end result is casual glamour and a conversation piece from the start. “Hot damn!” says a coworker who catches me on my way out. “Where are you going all dressed up?” playfully inquires another.

I receive a similar nod of approval from the hostess when I arrive, who beams, “I love this sparkle!” as soon as she hugs me hello. To my surprise, none of my dinnermates seem remotely thrown by the fact that I am in sweats; perhaps they’re temporarily blinded by the shine? The next day, when my editor asks how my athleisure fared, we both agree it was the razzle-dazzle embellishment that moved it to evening. “You just have to balance out the sweats with something really stupidly glamorous,” she says matter-of-factly. “It’s like a high-low fashion statement.”

Day 5: Happy Hour

I make plans to meet my writer friend John for happy hour at The Loyal—a newly opened restaurant in Greenwich Village that came at the recommendation of Vogue Living Editor Ella Riley-Adams. “It’s fairly adult, which is actually good because it means that wearing sweatpants would be more unusual,” she explains. “Versus wearing sweatpants in Brooklyn, which would be unremarkable.” Nothing feels ordinary about Danielle Guizio’s ski-style track pants that make an unmistakable swish sound with every step. Ditto for the matching cropped hoodie with sleeves that extend well past my fingertips. I tie the sweatshirt strings into a pert bow—a trick I learned from Vogue Senior Market Editor Kirby Marzec, who also urges me to ground the look with Dr. Martens rather than the sneakers that I had set aside: “Combat boots will help take it from the gym to the bar,” she says. “You don’t want to be that girl who looks like they just got off the treadmill and is now throwing back a cocktail.”

I am all but convinced of this logic until I realize I’ve failed to pair my creepers with heavy-duty socks—and swiftly find myself with a semi-serious case of ankle chafing mid-commute. I am forced to make a pit stop at the closest bodega for an emergency first aid kit, and then limp my way up to the bar 20 minutes late. John’s initial response is just as unexpected: “You’re looking very Sporty Spice! Normally, you dress like an evil version of the girl next door,” he continues. “Everything is perfect and together, but there will always be one naughty detail that draws the eye. This is a really different look for you. You’re wearing pants. They’re shiny. And I can see your belly button.” As fate would have it, John is also in athleisure, but his Adidas jacket and track pants are left over from an afternoon helping a pal move. “It’s like, ‘Wait, I thought we were having martinis. Are you taking me to karate class?’ ” he jokes. “You’re dressed for action.”

Day 6: Date Night

I have a date with a (very) cute lawyer named Christian. He’d proposed we grab drinks at Garfunkel’s—a posh speakeasy-style bar far enough downtown to warrant wearing athleisure. It bears noting here that under no other circumstances would I have dared to wear anything remotely resembling sweats on a first date. But I admit, I was curious to see how they would perform in uncharted territory. If a little fashion experimentation turned out to be a deal-breaker, this wasn’t the guy for me, and so I sport a tracksuit and sheer mesh bodysuit by Danielle Guizio. I wear the joggers slung dangerously low to reveal a stretch of exposed hip bone in keeping with the street style trend beloved by the Kardashian-Jenners and the Hadids. It’s at once sporty and sexy.

In the Uber over, my athleisure in full force, I am reminded of an expression that suggests people who wear sweatpants on a date are just in it for the free meal (it’s called “sneating,” look it up). Paired with Stuart Weitzman kitten heels, mine feel more elevated than most, but I wonder if it looks like I’ve agreed to drinks simply because I knew my date would offer to pay. When I pull up, he is already there waiting for me and is dressed business casual in a Belstaff aviator jacket and a button-down, sans tie. Before he can so much as comment on my athleisure, I let first-date jitters get the best of me and proceed to tell him just how much I liked his choice of outerwear. “After you,” he says as we make our way up the stairs. I feel his eyes burning into the back of me, and I pray my backside looks as good in sweats as it does in my favorite jeans. After we sink into a corner booth, I unzip my jacket. My date-night sweats would only work if my bodysuit were visible.

Once we cover the usual get-to-know-each-other conversation topics, and are onto our second cocktail, I decide to broach the subject of athleisure and tell him the truth about my outfit. “You’re like a method actor!” he says, inching his way closer on the couch. I can’t help but notice the mere mention of athleisure made the painful formalities of a first date fade away. Maybe he’s relieved it wasn’t a sign of me sneating? Maybe he’s impressed I’ve been brazen enough to chance it? Or maybe there is more sex appeal in sportswear than I’d bargained was possible. For his part, Christian appears visibly intrigued (and totally into me). “I just assumed you were into some fashion trend that I didn’t know about,” he admits. “I like a girl who’s more fashionable than I am, and I appreciate the boldness.” When he goes so far as to compliment the graphic dotting on my track pants, I know enough to recognize a coy game to put his hand on my knee, but am willing to be a good sport and play along. Later that night, he texts to tell me how much fun he’d had, and how “cute” he thought I looked in my athleisure. Then, he suggests we get dinner on Saturday at what is one of my favorite spots in Williamsburg (a place where athleisure is welcome, if not expected), and I take him up on it.

Conclusion:

By the time Friday rolls around, I’m convinced that not only is it possible to wear athleisure 24/7—it is, for the moment, preferred. The non-sporty section of my closet has never looked less inviting, and the increase in gym-to-street sneakers opened up a number of possibilities I’d previously failed to consider. It was only a week ago that I had underestimated the power of sportswear that can pull double duty—and the added mobility that comes with non-workout workout clothes that promise to move you through life as comfortably (and chicly) as possible with the least amount of effort. After all, fashion is not unlike fitness: Switch up your workout routine to keep the body guessing; switch up your wardrobe and rescue your style from a rut. And if that means putting stylish sweats à la Gigi Hadid into rotation, consider me game.

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Does Gigi Hadid’s Athleisure Work in Real Life?