Three years ago, last minute, I wore a jumpsuit to my cousin’s rehearsal dinner. I’d ordered a wrap dress that didn’t arrive. The jumpsuit was the only thing I owned that wasn’t jeans or a t-shirt. I wore it because I had no other option.

I got three compliments before I sat down.

That was the moment I started paying attention to jumpsuits as an actual alternative to dresses, not just a thing I’d see on a styling Instagram and scroll past. Three years later, I own four. I’ve returned two. And I’ve stopped buying occasion dresses almost entirely. Here’s the long version.

What the jumpsuit solves

The thing I love most about a jumpsuit is that it removes three conversations I’m tired of having. Do my thighs touch the fabric. Does the wind do something I have to apologize for. Can I sit on a low chair or a picnic blanket without doing a tuck-and-sit that takes six tries.

A jumpsuit is one piece. The hem is fixed. The top stays where the top should stay. I can bend, sit, stand up, hug someone, reach for a high glass on a high shelf, and never once think about my outfit. That’s the entire pitch, honestly.

Woman in black jumpsuit, urban backdrop

The bathroom thing (yes, really)

Look, I have to address this. Every plus-size jumpsuit review I’ve ever read by a thinner person waves this away with some cheerful line about “just practice.” That’s not how it works for me. The reality: a jumpsuit with a full bodice and a back zipper requires either unbuttoning the front, doing a complicated shrug-out, or unzipping from the top while holding the bottom up with your knees.

I will be honest. The first three times I wore a jumpsuit to an event, I drank less water than I wanted to. By the fourth event I’d figured out a method that works. By the sixth event I’d stopped caring.

The methods I’ve found that actually work:

  • Side-zip jumpsuits — 80% easier. Look for these first.
  • Wrap-front jumpsuits — no zipper at all, but the fit depends on whether the wrap stays wrapped when you sit.
  • Elastic-waist jumpsuits — the most forgiving. The least “occasion.” The most weekend.

I own two side-zip and one elastic-waist. I returned the back-zip one after the first wear, because I am not doing that to myself at a wedding.

The Spanx Sculpt one I bought at a work gala

Last October my company had a gala at the museum. Black-tie optional, open bar, 600 people I half-knew. I wore the Spanx Sculpt jumpsuit, the one with the wide legs and the V-back. I bought it on sale at Nordstrom for $118. I sized up to a 22 (I’m usually a 20 on top because of my bust). The 22 fit, the 20 was a fight I wasn’t going to take to a coat check.

I felt like a million dollars. Which is the only time in my adult life I’ve said that and meant it without rolling my eyes.

The Eloquii one I returned

Eloquii launched a jumpsuit last year, a wide-leg in a sage-green linen. I ordered it. I tried it on. I loved it on me. Then I sat down in it and the wrap front opened about an inch more than I was comfortable with. It went back.

This is the part of jumpsuits that’s not on Instagram: fit when sitting is different from fit when standing. Test it. Sit on a low couch, on a dining chair, on a bench. Move before you keep the tags off.

Woman in striped jumpsuit, cityscape

The casual wide-leg one I now wear on Fridays

The one I wear most is the cheapest. It’s a cotton wide-leg jumpsuit from Target (the A New Day line, $48) in a navy-and-white stripe. It is not a special-occasion piece. It is the Friday workwear piece. I wear it with white sneakers or with my kitten-heeled sandals if I’m going to dinner after work.

I have worn it roughly once a week since August. It has not pilled. It has not stretched out. It goes in the wash with everything else. It is the jumpsuit I would tell anyone to start with, because it solves the “Friday outfit” problem and it lets you practice the bathroom logistics in a low-stakes setting, like your office bathroom, with the door locked.

The inseam problem

The one thing nobody warned me about is the inseam. I am 5’4”. Jumpsuits are almost always designed for someone who is 5’8”. The crotch sits too low, the leg looks too long, the whole thing looks like a costume.

What I do: I take any jumpsuit to a tailor for a $20 hem. Every time. It is the best $20 I spend on clothes. A jumpsuit that hits my ankle correctly is the difference between “I look intentional” and “I’m wearing a sleeping bag with armholes.”

If you’re over 5’6” you can skip this part. The rest of us need a tailor we trust.

What I’m buying next

The fourth jumpsuit in my closet is the Eloquii crepe one, on sale for $84, in black, that I just ordered last week. It has a side zip. It hits at my ankle after I take it to my tailor. I have not worn it yet.

I’ll write about it when I do.

Have a jumpsuit question? Send it to me — I read every message.