Poll on whether or not your dad found it outrageous when, in the days before you earned your own income, you used his hard-earned money to buy distressed jeans with holes in them. Direct quote from mine: “Back in my day, blue jeans were practically free.” And let me guess: the holes in the knees came over time, not from a factory? He didn’t understand. But now that it’s my bank account, I get it: My money, when I choose to spend it on my wardrobe, had better go toward quality things that last — even if they’re superfluous. Whatever I buy has to outlive trends, flatter, make me happy and help solve multiple outfit equations.
This criteria has pointed me toward more expensive items of late. But the funny thing is that, even though I wear jeans more than any other item of clothing, I’m most resistant to invest in them. At least on my body, the quality of denim (or lack of it) shows loud and clear. There’s a clear difference when I compare the cheap-y pair I once grabbed in a going-out panic (it was a black, high-waist jeans emergency) to that of proper designer denim. So why do I balk at jeans, specifically, that encourage more of a wallet dip when I know I’ll be happier in the long run? I had no problem saving up for the investment blazer I swore I’d wear forever, a pair of shoes I promised to take to my grave and tailored trousers that I argued would be my one pair of professional pants until I retired.
I’ve been thinking about this ever since I fell in love — in true love! — with a pair of Moussy jeans I called into the office for a shoot. I stepped into them the moment the model left, and like something out of The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, they made me feel like a million bucks.
They kind of were a million bucks, too. $350, to be exact. But they hit every criteria: they flattered, made me happy, helped solve multiple outfit equations. The quality showed, loud and clear. They were stiff like I like ’em. (I hate stretch.) The color was that sweet spot between could-be-vintage and timely-not-trendy. They were cool, too: the jeans were practically an outfit unto themselves. I don’t know the last time I was ever excited to put on denim, but with these, I get just as excited to wear them as though they were a party dress. They require heels to hit the right length for me; they’re not for shlubbing around.
So why not treat these as my “splurge”? If babysitting money, the metaphorical kind, doesn’t “have” to go toward anything (rent, bills, 401k), why not save it for jeans instead of a fancy top?
But what do you think? Are you of the camp who worships denim, true aficionados of the fabric who collect cult brands and put pairs in the freezer rather than washing machine to retain their purity and shape? Or are you someone who thinks jeans should be $60 max?
I don’t fall squarely into either category, but I’ve been told that when you know you’ve found the one, you know, and none of this stuff will matter. I’m in love with a pair of jeans, my friends, and I don’t care who knows it. I’m here to shout it from the rooftop: I’VE FOUND THE BEST JEANS EVER!!!