I’m a college professor. My job doesn’t really require me to demonstrate the flexibility I gained from the one hot yoga class I’ve attended since my daughter’s birth four months ago. I don’t have to use the ninja-quick reflexes I’ve developed by rescuing antique lamps at my grandmother’s house from the hands of my preschool-aged son. And, because I work at an engineering school, I’ve only had to outrun a robot once. Nevertheless, I wear leggings to work.

I know there’s a spirited debate via YouTube rants about whether leggings even qualify as pants, let alone workplace attire. As a second-time mom, my mantra has become “If the pants fit … they’re pants.”

In my legging rotation, I have quite a few pairs of LuLaRoe leggings—pants known for their “buttery” softness and loud, crazy patterns. Because LuLaRoe is sold only through consultants, I bought my first pair of leggings at an in-home party. Overwhelmed by the bright colors and patterns ranging from Egyptian cats to sushi rolls, I took the buttery reputation literally and left with a pair of solid-yellow leggings. They paired easily with a navy-blue dress or black tunic, and no one noticed that I was wearing leggings to work.

Those yellow leggings really did feel like butter, and I’m not one to skimp on butter. It wasn’t long before I branched out from my solid leggings. When I opened my first pair of printed leggings—bright-red-and-black medallions on a white background—my preschooler said earnestly, “Ooooh, you gonna wear those at bedtime?” But I was undeterred.