My jaunt with jeans: Why a pair of denims is my best friend
Slipping into the right pair of jeans is like settling down with a dishy partner.
I remember my first trip to the US of A in the 1990s when I was hung up on the idea of easing into a low rise, Levi 501 button fly, letting it flaunt my washboard abs. What an acquisition that was for a few dollars. The iconic, straight fit, robust and rocking lines in cool denim. But then, that has been my idea of a snug fit. Fab and fierce. A boot cut that accentuates the toned muscles and, well, never lets you down.
The hiccup arrived when I grew out of its shapely contours into another size, and realised the trauma of hobbling around, hunting for that elusive fit. Stretchable jeans flatter pixie builts. Ripped ones are jr. inc. The dreadful patches never made the cut, for me, and the acid wash look was hara-kiri. Grunge rips don't work at PTMs (parent-teacher meets) and yonder. Visibility of derriere dips and camel toes has always been a complete no-go. If that weren't being fussy enough, there was my glowering gynaecologist frowning at the J of jeans as she believes firmly that they cup the worst possible scringing of down under.
Never mind, the hip-huggers in denim have always been a saviour, a permanent fixture in my wardrobe. We have been in a faithful relationship ever since we fell in love during my teens. Peeling off the denim, like a second skin, is now passé. Shrugging the pair off is de rigueur, as sheer comfort rules the picks. I remember when uncool jeggings arrived as a hideous cross between leggings and jeans, an absolute game spoiler. It made way for unflattering forms, like ferrets fighting in a sack. Thankfully the trend exited rapidly. Much like high-waisters and boyfriend jeans.
Back to the j-jaunt: it is very difficult to find the perfect pair that sits enticingly on the rear, shaping the possible jowls into a smooth upsweep. I am infamous for lugging at least six pairs into the trial room, everywhere I go on the j-hunt. Squatting, standing, staring at multiple angles and twirling to ensure it is the best pick for my form. But as I have always believed, the final litmus test is cleared only when you live in the icy tones for a few days.
It upsets me beyond measure, when a super snug slithers into an ill fit a few months down the line, with changing contours. Zero ROI. I remember getting my gleeful, greedy hands on the perfect George, and then losing it to inch loss a few months later. Fine, I confess, my cupboard is always stashed with six pairs at any given point in time. Because the blues beat the blues just so easily. They are a go-to fix for everything. A touch of cool chic? Couple a snowy white top, with a slash of red lipstick, set for Sunday brunch. Night out? Tottering in heels and a décolleté. Work zone? Pry soles into sneakers to zip off. Spiffy work hour? Team with a casual jacket or a sharp shirt. Mum on the run? Denims with anything else you can find.
Of course, the blues look the most delicious when they end a few inches above the ankles. Absolute darlings. For me, a snug pair of jeans is the best bud that never lets me down. Undemanding, uber-cool and ubiquitous.