Recently my friend turned to me and asked rather curiously, “Do you own jeans? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in jeans.”
The answer was no. I don’t wear jeans. I haven’t worn them since my very early twenties. I gave them up around the same time I gave up orange foundation and dating men that used milk crates as shelves.
Basically, jeans do not bring me joy. I can admire a pair of jeans on another person but I don’t associate jeans with good memories or, to be honest, comfort.
Watch Mamamia's Clare Stephens review non-family friendly fashion. Post continues after video.
Firstly, jeans remind me of trailing around shopping centres as a self-conscious teenager and crying when I couldn’t find anything in my size. I desperately wanted to wear low rider jeans like Hilary Duff and The Veronicas, but I could rarely find any that would fit me.
I look back now and I’m partly grateful to have missed that fashion mistake, but my heart also aches for that little girl who just wanted to feel cool at the school disco.
Secondly, I don’t find jeans comfortable. I know some people swear they love their jeans - I even have a friend who said she could fall asleep in her jeans - but I just find they nip, pinch and suck me in. I don’t like the feeling; it feels constricting.
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