Kindred Fashion

Most gym skirts make you look like a lost field hockey player from 2004. There, I said it. We’ve all been tricked by the Instagram ads showing a girl doing a 300lb squat in a pleated mini-skirt without a single thread moving out of place. It’s a lie. A total, complete lie.

I started wearing skirts to the gym because I got tired of leggings. Leggings are fine, I guess, but they feel like a second skin I’m constantly trying to peel off once I start sweating. But finding a skirt that doesn’t migrate to your armpits the moment you hit the treadmill is surprisingly hard. I’ve spent way too much money—probably close to $900 over the last two years—trying to find the ones that actually work.

The 2019 Equinox Disaster

I remember being at the Equinox in Soho back in late 2019. I was wearing this cheap, cute skirt I bought off some random Amazon brand. It had over 4,000 five-star reviews, so I figured I was safe. I was doing Bulgarian split squats—which are already a punishment from God—and halfway through my second set, I felt the ‘safety shorts’ under the skirt completely give up. They didn’t just ride up; they basically turned into a thong. I spent the rest of my workout hiding in the corner, tugging at my hemline like a crazy person. It was humiliating. I felt exposed, sweaty, and annoyed that I’d paid $35 for something that couldn’t handle basic movement.

That was the turning point. I realized that 90% of activewear companies design for the aesthetic of ‘fitness’ rather than the actual mechanics of it. They care about how the pleats look in a mirror, not how the silicone grip strip (or lack thereof) holds up against a quad pump.

Takeaway: If the built-in shorts don’t have a silicone grip on the hem, the skirt is essentially useless for anything more intense than a brisk walk.

The part where I tell you what actually works

I’ve tested about 12 different brands at this point. I tracked the hem-roll on the Nike Advantage skirt over 14 laundry cycles and found it lost exactly 3mm of structural integrity by wash 8. It started flaring out like a cupcake liner. Not ideal. But after all that, there are really only three I’d tell a friend to buy.

• Lululemon Pace Rival: I know, I know. It’s the basic choice. But I’ve worn my black one for 412 miles of running and the elastic is still holding on for dear life. The back pocket is actually big enough for a phone, which is rare.
• Alo Yoga Aces Tennis Skirt: This is my ‘I might go to brunch after’ skirt. It’s not as technical, but the fabric is thick. I might be wrong about this, but I think the thicker fabric helps with the sweat-wicking more than the thin, ‘aerodynamic’ stuff.
• Lorna Jane: Specifically their vintage-style ones. They use a proprietary fabric mix (82% polyester, 18% elastane) that feels indestructible.

I used to think pockets were the most important thing. I was completely wrong. Pockets are a distraction if the waistband doesn’t stay put. What I mean is—actually, let me put it differently. A skirt with ten pockets is still a bad skirt if the waistband feels like a python with an anxiety disorder. You want compression, but you don’t want to be strangled.

An unfair take on brands I hate

I refuse to recommend Outdoor Voices. I know they have a cult following, and their ‘Doing Things’ motto is cute, but their colors make me look like a bruised peach. Their fabric also feels like a cheap tent. It’s stiff, it’s noisy when you walk, and it doesn’t breathe. I don’t care if everyone on TikTok loves them; I think they’re selling an aesthetic to people who don’t actually sweat. There, I said it. It’s a scam for the ‘clean girl’ aesthetic crowd.

Also, Skirt Sports. I hate the name. It feels patronizing. Like, ‘Oh, look at you doing sports in a little skirt!’ No thanks. I’ll stick to brands that don’t talk down to me.

Anyway, I digress. The point is that you need to look at the inseam. A 14cm inseam on the inner shorts is the absolute minimum for anyone with actual thighs. Anything shorter and you’re just asking for a chafe-fest. I once tried a 2.5-inch inseam and my inner thighs looked like raw steak after a three-mile run. Never again.

The technical stuff (sort of)

I did a ‘bounce test’ with these three. I jumped on a plyo box 20 times and measured how far the skirt moved from my natural waistline.

1. Lululemon: 0.5 inches of movement.
2. Alo: 1.2 inches of movement (it’s heavy).
3. Lorna Jane: 0.8 inches.

Lululemon wins on stability. It just works.

I’ve noticed that people get really defensive about their gym gear. Like it’s a personality trait. It’s not. It’s just fabric that we’re going to sweat in and eventually throw in a hamper. I’ve bought the same $78 Lululemon skirt four times now. I don’t care if something better exists; I know this one doesn’t make me want to cry in the middle of a leg day. That’s worth the price tag to me.

I sometimes wonder if we’re all just dressing for a version of ourselves that doesn’t actually exist—the version that looks cute while doing burpees. In reality, I’m red-faced, gasping for air, and probably have a strand of hair stuck to my lip. Does the skirt really matter then? Probably not. But at least I’m not worrying about my shorts becoming a thong.

Buy the Pace Rival in black. Trust me.