The (Many Pairs of) Jeans

Over the course of my life, I've had many favorite pairs of jeans. This might have to do with the fact that I often wear them until holes begin appearing in unfortunate places. Or maybe my mother accidentally gets bleach on the leg. Or a pen explodes all over them. Or I accidentally throw them in the super hot dryer, and they shrink. It always seems that at the exact moment that I decide I can't live without a certain pair, some catastrophe befalls them. At the moment, there are six pairs of jeans in my closet in various styles and washes. The pair closest to my heart and, therefore, closest to demise, is a pair of slim bootcut 7 for all Mankinds.


Like most of my favorite pieces, I wasn't searching for a new pair of jeans when I bought these. One pair of skinnies had already met its end and another was on its way there. My Joe's were my workhorse jeans, but for the most part, I wore skirts and dresses and tights. Yet when I found these on one of my many window shopping adventures through Second Time Around, there was no way I was leaving Boston without them.

More versatile than both my flares and my skinnies, they immediately became a wardrobe staple, especially as fall and winter approached. I dress them up. I dress them down. They make my legs appear slimmer and longer. I wear them with sneakers and metallic flats. Form fitting cowl neck sweaters and loose tanks.

When this pair meets its end, which will probably be sooner as opposed to later, I'll mourn them heavily. Unlike dresses and headbands, jeans take work. You have to break them in. They generally start uncomfortable and maybe a bit too snug, even the ones with stretch. You tug and sigh and then one day that's all done. They are perfect. And after all of that, it hurts to give them up. To think of starting all over again with a different pair. Even if it's the same brand and cut.

But that day isn't here yet.


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