Modern Problem: Jeans

Here at Tin Can, String and Whistle we have a dress down policy on Fridays.

Actually, you can pretty much get away with wearing anything normally, but Friday you're struggling to see a suit on the back of anybody. Case in point, I'm looking at the Grounded Dutchman's shirt which looks like the wallpaper in my mother's kitchen circa 1974. I've been in other jobs where you could happily turn up in your pyjamas and noboby would give a damn. Here, it's business casual - no need for suits, but look nice if you're meeting clients. And Friday you can pretty much wear what you like - important client meetings excepted.

This morning, knowing that all I have in the way of going out is Bongo's leaving lunch and beer club, I go to the drawer to find my favourite jeans - only to spy them hanging on a clothes horse, damp.

Bugger.

So I go to my trousers and jumper drawer and get scared. What am I going to wear?

And why do I own seven pairs of dark blue jeans, none of which I really like. Or wear, for that matter.

I've never been a jeans person. Trousers, yes. I love cargo pants. I live in trackie dacks and leggings because I spend a lot of time at the gym, but jeans and I have always had a rather strained relationship.

Firstly, I'm not the right shape. Jeans look best on slimmer people, I'm an apple shape. Long legs, slim hipped, high waisted, massive tummy and tits. They didn't make jeans for people like me until a few years ago. Before that, I found jeans constricted my stomach and the muffin top overhang was never a good look.

Secondly, I always found shopping for jeans about as thrilling as having root canal surgery. You're forced to go into these trendy shops where a normally bored teenage assistant looks you up and down as if your turned up smelling like a crusty homeless person, then when the do actually deign to serve you, they bring you these items of clothing that either your mother would wear, or attempt to make you expose your pubic hair in public. For a youthful forty something, neither is a good look.

So I look at the seven pairs of jeans. Most of which have been purchased on sale in the last five years.

I know I am keeping the Levi 501s in a size 14, purchased in 1991 just for the sentimental value. They've followed me all around the world. The only fitted properly in 1993 when I was going through a bad breakup with this South African bloke and I was at my absolute skinniest. They also have the waist band up around the armpits. Why oh why do I keep them?

There's also a pair of Gap boyfriend jeans, which when I'm about ten kgs lighter look wonderful. As with all Gap jeans, the demin is super soft. Can't throw them out.

There's a another pair of Katies jeans, size 16, with some really dodgy stitching on the left leg. They fit at the moment, but the waist band is scratchy.

There's a pair of size 16 boot leg jeans which were sourced on ebay. They looked comfy online, but as a size 16, I think they mean size 16 in a land where a toothpick is considered fat.

We can't forget Tony's jeans. Another pair of Levis, 510s, with a 36 Waist and 33 Leg. Boy's jeans with a button fly. These were given to me by a friend a few years ago. She was cleaning out her wardrobes and found these jeans that her son used to wear. As he'd moved to Queensland and stacked on a heap of weight, they were passed on to me. They have a bleach stain on the right leg, a not too low a waist and they make my bum look good. They're also my fat barometer. If I can't fit into these jeans it's seriously time to do something about my weight.

There's also two pairs of black jeans, one pair from Katies that the stitching itches and another that are also from the mid nineties that have that distinctive "Harry High Pants" look which is now reserved from many Asian office workers and fat guys over sixty with oddly shaped beer bellies. Oh, and one more pair of Rivers slim leg, which will look good when about ten kilos are gone from my frame, bought on sale for a measly ten bucks.

So here I sit, in Tony's jeans, which are snug, but not uncomfortable, bleach stain on my leg, knowing that I really have to start keeping my weight in check.

It's just funny how I keep hold of these rather useless items for sentimental and encouragement value.


Pand