You may know that Google is tracking you, but most people don't realize the extent of it. Luckily, there are simple steps you can take to dramatically reduce Google's tracking. One obvious reason, and one possible more obscure reason. The amount of fabric the creator of the pair of pants had reserved for your butt, is too little. In other words: your pants are too small. It may be that you picked the wrong size, it could also be that you picked the wrong style. For example, hip-rise jeans are generally not designed to hold big booties.
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Everything you need to know about dance belts and more. You might think pulling on a pair of tights would be as easy as putting on jeans, but as with almost everything involving male dancers' clothes, you'd be wrong. Ballet tights for men are thicker than women's. Don't let anyone tell you women's tights are "unisex" unless you will accept a see-thru effect. Women's tights frequently come with a little cotton gusset in the crotch that serves their needs, but won't do anything good for you. Insist on real male dance tights. I used to only recommend one brand of tights, but several manufacturers have upped their game, and it would be unfair to them to not acknowledge that. White tights can be dyed easily using Rit dyes. Some dancewear stores like Tutu.
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The people who buy our leggings clearly feel and see the different as they wont go back to the regular leggings. Keep in mind that the models shown in the photo's have a plus size booty with a ratio between waist and hip from 30 cm and more. So the booty shape you see is their real booty shape. Our leggings do not make your booty look bigger. What you see is what you got. It will expose the booty shapes more.
View Full Version : too-low-in-the-ass, too-tight-everywhere-else jeans. Greenhouse gas has cooked Manhattan into a tropical isle; all the hot, half-dressed girls have returned like robins. And in every other direction: Man ass. Ass cleavage, like regular cleavage, used to be strictly for women. Man ass is suddenly everywhere, from the chichi shopathons of Soho to the hipster suburbia of Williamsburg. Just last Friday night, on the Brooklyn-bound L train, an Asian dude posed, scruffy and tan: Between his too-short olive tee and his too-too-low gray Diesel jeans, the buttresses of his pelvic muscles flared architecturally. Try to ignore his pubes. In Clinton Hill, some punk rocker loaded his toddler into their bright red Volvo station wagon; bending over to install the kid in the car seat, a moon sliver of butt snuck out above his studded silver-and-black belt. Tager at least respects the unintentional ass-crackers: the hard-at-work plumber, the bent-over grandpa, the generally absent-minded.
