“I’m buying new jeans!” I announced to Jess one morning after realizing I full-blown dreaded “Jeans Day” at work. It was a startling realization, indeed, but admitting there’s a problem is the first step to recovery. 

Jean’s Day came every Friday and served as the employees’ lone reward for making it through the work week. It allowed us little people to break free the protocol fetters of corporate dress, ditch the Khakis and throw on a nice, comfortable pair of denim. It was the unspoken substitute for a raise, and yet, I found myself staring at my closet, yearning to slide on a pair of dress pants instead. What was the matter with me?

After dismissing the Freudian blaim-the-parents theory, I made a loose review of my jean situation. There, I discovered the source of these ailing emotions. Basically, I had three pair left to my name – my Abercrombie’s, my Gap’s and my Plato’s Closet Abercrombie Super Flairs, cut an inch too short. Now, three’s not a bad number, but, the problem was, they were all on their last leg – no pun intended.

I ran all three in an even rotation, washing only when necessary. My Abercrombie jeans, however, developed a hole in the knee which grew bigger by the day and I was down to two I could wear confidently in public. 

To be fair to the reader, it must be mentioned here that I do own a fourth pair of Abercrombie jeans. These have seen Clinton’s presidency. Three months ago, without warning, all the denim blew out in them, thankfully leaving intact the zipper and seat for me to work with. It was as if all the thread went on strike at once. When I wear them, a distance observer may question if I’m even wearing pants, for a fair amount of skin shows. It’s not unusual for a pocket of car keys to swing out the fashionable hole in the thigh, banging in perfect measure on the outside of my pants as I walk. Now, the ragged bottoms are buried in my dresser drawer, sprung free only for roofing projects.    

My two remaining jeans neither feel nor look cool. My “Super Flairs”, well, let’s be honest, are just a dumb pair of jeans. They’re stupidly cut and their bell bottoms could devour the thickest of walking casts. It also has the annoying habit of exposing the entire length of the white of my sock as well as revealing a pale sliver of leg whenever I sit.

My Gap jeans are equally annoying in that the leg cuffs have somehow disintegrated, leaving holes big enough to loop the heels of my shoes. An overly bouncy step is greeted with a tug in back.

Anway, I hadn’t bought new jeans in over five years. Strangely, it made me nervous. I wasn’t exactly up-to-date on the jean fashion, and it pained me to waste a $100 on a pair. I’d given up on buying second hand clothing, which were always an odd fit anway, broken and stretched as they were by the bulges and curves of the original wearer. 

So, in an effort to avoid the mistake of buying jeans I’d later become embarrassed about wearing, I conducted a secret (and somewhat disturbing) market research analysis. I spent much time in crowds eye-balling the backs of men – never in a weird way, mind you, but strictly for the gathering of data.

In church, my most effective studies took place during the meet-and-greet, when people stood up. I’d shake their hands – “good morning” – then once they turned I’d go right to work absorbing their backsides, taking extensive mental notes. Although, it likely made everyone involved quite uncomfortable (this couldn’t be helped), it was necessary to discover the brand of jeans guys my age were wearing these days. 

After weeks of reading the butts of men, the belt soon became my greatest enemy. It hid the brand names, making the process most tedious and bothersome. It took several extra glances and a problem-solving mind to piece together the information that was only half-showing that I so desperately needed.   

But finally, after weeks of living like this, I concluded my research and felt happy with the results. I headed over to Macy’s to find some Levi’s. When I first got there, Jess spotted a table of some with cool washes and cuts. Having done my research, I knew the style now leaned toward a tighter, straighter leg look. I excitedly grabbed a pair of what was called the ”skinny” fit in my size and made a beeline for the dressing rooms. Jess thought I needed the boot fit. To this, I insisted that she get with the times.

The legs of these pants tappered so hard that I could barely get them on over my socks. After a good five minute struggle, I finally got them zipped and buttoned. I faced the dressing room mirror, and staring back at me was a sight so ridiculous that it had to be illegal. I busted out laughing. It was nothing short of denim spandex. Jess hurried in to see and buckled in laughter. I didn’t know I had a gut… 

“You really need the boot fit,” she said. This time I agreed.    

Miraculously I peeled the things off. In the end, the boot fit was what worked. They fit perfectly, and jeans never felt so good. Jess gave the thumbs up and we both drove home with smiles on our faces.

Now I need to find some shorts for summer that fit. Just do yourself and me a favor, will ya? Email me the brand and style of shorts you wear and we’ll just call it the day.   

Categories: Fashion
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