When & Wear

“A girl’s best friend” often “something assholes wear everyday” also known as “the working man’s leather.” These are common descriptions of our favourite a five pocket, four letter phenomenon: apparel of the denim variety that dresses the world’s lower half— our blue jeans.

The term “jean,” was named after Genoa, Italy, and was coined by the sailors who wore clothing made from the material. The word “denim” is said to have came from the name of a French material, “serge de Nimes,” serge (the tough denim material) from Nimes (a little town in France). But you knew that, right?

Denim made its debut and became quickly popular in the ‘30s with the rise of the Western flicks. Then the Cold War commenced, and everyone started wearing jeans for warmth. Then Levi came along, decided he could outsource the shit out of it prodigiously. Sweatshops were born. The global North got rich, while the global South dyed Wrangler’s trying. Jeans penetrated young people in the ‘70s, when young people started penetrating (sorry) on TV. They became a token of the teenage rebel. Think James Dean, and then merge/celebrity-couple-name that to get Jean (I try). The ‘80s marked the age of premium denim or designer jeans, and welcomed higher price tags and names like Tommy Hilfiger, Calvin Klein, Guess? and Diesel.
We’ve all had our share of denim rompers, boy cut Cherokees, bell-bottomed Buffal’s, AE Flares, Guess boot cuts, Silver skinnies, cropped Calvins, acid-washed, stone-washed, dry-washed, cold-washed, whisker-washed, raw, selvage, low-rise, no-rise and now high-rise? We’ve found them all, and worn them all — some more regrettable than others. Picking the right pair of jeans is like picking a mate — it’s half hard work and half luck. You can search for months and find nothing, or when you’re not even looking, bam, there you are in the middle of the Bay, minding your own life, blowing the last of your paycheque and there they are. Then you have to ask yourself the all-important questions. Am I attracted to them? Am I comfortable? Do they suit me? Do I suit them? Do they make me feel awesome? Will my friends approve? Are they too short? Can I afford them? Should I keep looking? Rule of thumb — if you are still thinking about them (the jeans, or a potential prospect) three days after you first spotted them, they’re probably a good investment.
One rare day, in May, one pair would find me, and not by UPS, or the will of my keen eBay eye.

Mall shopping to me, is as Margaret Atwood is to most. If you don’t know or love Margaret Atwood, you can safely assume I don’t know/love the mall (i.e., St. Vital Center is my purgatory).

I walked into my room, like many of you, ready for part three of the post-Saturday-night-Sunday-afternoon nap, when I found a suspiciously unfamiliar pair of jeans folded on the end of my single bed. Unfamiliar because 1) they were folded. Like most of our rooms, mine could use a maid or foreign aid (probably Raid) and 2) these jeans were greyish-black (charcoal), and like most things in life, out of my university student price range. Making a mental checklist of my jean wardrobe (all three pairs) I was able to rule that these, were in fact definitely not mine. I shook them open. The tag read “Natalie Low Rise Paper Denim Size . . . 25” — fuck! If the brand, and the colour and the folded presentation weren’t a giveaway that these jeans were not rightfully mine, the doll size “25” made for vicious clarity. Again, I sift my brain, this time for my smallest friend, and dial her up. “Hi Sim! I have your Paper Denims, I guess you left them here.” Without a pause, she confirmed that she did not own the pair either. After no further questions, I moved on to the mass text. After a long 15 minute/15 text search, I learned that none of my pals donned a pair of Papers. Still in disbelief, and in a last stitch effort, I called my mother. “Mom, true or false: you bought me an extremely small pair of Paper Denims?” “Paper What?” “Yes or No?” I received another, shorter, brief pause . . . “Take the dog for a walk.” Click.

I sat cross-legged in confusion, on my uncomfortably plastic eq3 folding chair, in my uncomfortably small bedroom, with my uncomfortably small new pair of mystery jeans. It was then that I decided I had no choice but to adopt and adapt. After reading the wash tag (always read this!), I cold-washed, rinsed, then hung to dry. Then I stretched/tugged/bent/sucked and then I did that thing, where you lie on your back on your bed and do them up. And then I wore them to Stella’s Cafe.

Surely if they were not identified by 1 out of the 1/3 of SW Winnipeg that congregates over cafe breakfasts, they could be worn anywhere! And sure enough, my leftover potatoes were claimed faster than my mystery pants.

To this day, no one has identified themselves as the owner or donor. Where these jeans came from, what girl, asshole or working man might have worn them still baffles me. And picking a pair of jeans, like picking a potential mate, it’s never until you really find the right one that you wonder how you ever lived without them before. These jeans, have proven or stretched — whichever — to be the most perfect pair in all of my jean-wearing years.

Girls and guys style tip: Canada.forever21.com has all the latest styles of jeans for 2010, all under $45. Oh, and free shipping too!