When he gave the first pair to me, he said “These will look good on you”. These were a pair of 501, classic button-fly Levis. It’s what he always wore. He kept five pair in constant rotation, but after a short time together, he needed to move up a size and handed me the well-worn, perfectly broken in pair of jeans.
“Your ass looks good in those jeans” he said when I modeled them. And so I began to wear his cast-off Levis. Over our time together, he continued to get a bit larger and I continued to get a bit smaller - so the fit of the jeans changed - from one he preferred to a lower-on-the-hipbone fit that I preferred.
The key to wearing these very masculine mens’ jeans was to pair them with the girliest of girl things - a boho, frilly blouse, a pair of killer heels, the perfect white shirt and awesome belt - reminiscent of that Tina Turner video from decades ago. Those jeans became a signature piece for me. The retro piece in a style that Allison Lowe termed “elegant cowgirl”. My look. My style. My boyfriend jeans.
The jeans made for some comic moments as well. One day, he came home from work and asked me to bring him all “my jeans”. At that point, he got out a sharpie and marked a black X on all the leather tags so as not to repeat that day’s mistake. He’d accidently picked up a pair of “my” jeans - now too small for him - and had worn them to work that day - uncomfortably. We had such a laugh over that.
All the jeans, now perfectly sueded, their cuffs frayed in that well-worn way, the denim butter
soft, and the perfect blue - those jeans were quickly stashed in the closet when I moved in here. The summer was too hot for jeans and so they hung there, unseen and forgotten. Until this week. When I saw them again. And knew that it was time for them to go. I couldn’t wear them anymore. Even the pair that I love the most - that first pair - the most worn, the softest pair.