The Bathroom Situation (And Other Reasons I Broke Up With Jumpsuits… Until Now)

I used to hate jumpsuits. No—loathe. Love the look, hate the logistics. You know exactly what I mean.

The cute jumpsuit that turns into a hostage situation the moment you walk into a public restroom and realize you basically have to strip naked? Yeah, I’ve been there. At a concert. In a port-a-potty. Never again.

So for the past few years, I’ve admired jumpsuits from a distance. I'd see them on influencers looking tall and leggy, effortless and chic—and I’d roll my eyes, pull on my jeans, and pretend I wasn’t lowkey jealous. Because every time I tried one on, I’d either look like a child playing dress-up or a stuffed sausage. There was never an in-between. Especially if I dared to be bloated. Or curvy. Or, god forbid, both.

But then I came across this one jumpsuit. I wasn’t even looking for it. I was actually online shopping for sandals when I saw it—black, minimal, the kind of silhouette that whispers cool girl without trying too hard. I clicked. I scrolled. I almost exited. But something told me to read the fine print.

Zippers on the hips. Not for style. For bathroom breaks.

I laughed out loud. Honestly, I thought it was a joke. Who the hell was designing jumpsuits with a woman’s actual life in mind?

Apparently, Voncelle.

I bought it mostly out of curiosity. I expected to return it. But when it showed up, I tried it on… and didn’t take it off for two hours. That never happens. Especially with a jumpsuit. I just kept looking in the mirror like—wait, I don’t have to adjust the straps? Or cuff the ankles? Or suck in? What is happening.

It fit. Not just physically, but emotionally. If that makes sense.

That weekend, I wore it out to dinner. Then to the farmer’s market. Then to my niece’s birthday party. I felt like myself in every one of those places—stylish, easy, unbothered. And when I had to use the bathroom at a public park, I did it like a normal human being. No contortionist moves required. It was honestly kind of thrilling.

Since then, I’ve ordered three more. I keep rotating them like a capsule wardrobe. I’ve worn one to a job interview, one on a flight, and one on a very successful first date. (He complimented it three times. He will never know why I smiled so hard the first time I peed at the bar.)

Anyway, this isn’t an ad. It’s a love letter to the first jumpsuit that didn’t make me feel like I had to earn it. I didn’t need to be a model or have a tailor on speed dial. I just had to zip it up and walk out the door.

So yeah—jumpsuits and I are back together. Thanks to Voncelle. And those genius little zippers I never knew I needed.