Jeans sentimentality
Today I am retiring my favorite pair of 501 Levi's jeans that I've had for about 6 years.
I ordered them from an internet store, knowing that they would fit perfectly, since this is the second pair I owned.
The first pair... I got it back when I worked as a sales clerk in SoHo. A colleague mentioned that a jean store across from us had a sale, and I went with her on our lunch break. I didn't think I had ever seen so many pairs of jeans in one place (that was still my fresh-off-the-plane self).
I wouldn't have known what to do with so much choice, but a hip salesperson came to the rescue. He seemed to just conjure a light-blue pair of jeans out of the air with a "try those -- they should fit!". So I tried. And they fit. Perfectly.
Then, of course, I looked at the price, and was shocked even though it was a good sale. Forty dollars seemed like a fortune to spend on a single item of clothing at the time. But at the end, I decided that I deserved to spoil myself a little and bought them.
And then, a year or so later, I found the black pair. It was one of the discontinued colors, incredibly cheap. And when they arrived, I found out that there was such a thing as a better than perfect fit.
These jeans didn't just fit, they made me feel a whole foot taller and somehow royal. The Jeans wouldn't tolerate slouching, pessimism or sneakers -- they demanded high heels and an attitude. So it was that exact combination that I decided to wear to a fireworks-and-fountains event in Pennsylvania. A family friend raised an eyebrow -- "you are wearing this to a park?!" Yup. I was.
And it was great -- fire and water across a black, velvety sky, and a pair of black jeans to match.
Here is to a perfect pair of jeans -- and to not knowing when you'll need one.
I ordered them from an internet store, knowing that they would fit perfectly, since this is the second pair I owned.
The first pair... I got it back when I worked as a sales clerk in SoHo. A colleague mentioned that a jean store across from us had a sale, and I went with her on our lunch break. I didn't think I had ever seen so many pairs of jeans in one place (that was still my fresh-off-the-plane self).
I wouldn't have known what to do with so much choice, but a hip salesperson came to the rescue. He seemed to just conjure a light-blue pair of jeans out of the air with a "try those -- they should fit!". So I tried. And they fit. Perfectly.
Then, of course, I looked at the price, and was shocked even though it was a good sale. Forty dollars seemed like a fortune to spend on a single item of clothing at the time. But at the end, I decided that I deserved to spoil myself a little and bought them.
And then, a year or so later, I found the black pair. It was one of the discontinued colors, incredibly cheap. And when they arrived, I found out that there was such a thing as a better than perfect fit.
These jeans didn't just fit, they made me feel a whole foot taller and somehow royal. The Jeans wouldn't tolerate slouching, pessimism or sneakers -- they demanded high heels and an attitude. So it was that exact combination that I decided to wear to a fireworks-and-fountains event in Pennsylvania. A family friend raised an eyebrow -- "you are wearing this to a park?!" Yup. I was.
And it was great -- fire and water across a black, velvety sky, and a pair of black jeans to match.
Here is to a perfect pair of jeans -- and to not knowing when you'll need one.