I have spent approximately $2,400 on leggings over the last five years. That is a disgusting amount of money. It’s enough for a used Honda or a very decent vacation, but instead, it’s sitting in my dresser in various shades of ‘Midnight Navy’ and ‘Stone.’ And after all that—after the pilling, the sliding waistbands, and the sheer embarrassment of see-through fabric—I’ve realized that the name on the tag matters way more than it should. Not because of status, but because most of these names are just fundamentally annoying to say out loud. The part nobody talks about: The ‘Lulu’ problem…