Monday, February 11, 2008

"Those" jeans

Every girl deserves a pair.

Mine? Gray-black wash. Stretchy. A lucky purchase at The Limited, where I rarely shop.

I remember the purchase well. I had just gotten off work at the magazine (Sacramento, not Austin), I had a party to attend, and I believe I was wearing sweatpants. I headed straight to the mall, where I knew I would be anonymous - my relationships with mall stores are about as intimate as my relationships with kitchenware. I rode the escalator from underground parking to mall level, and walked into the first store I saw. The Limited? Why not? Surely it's evolved since 1996, I thought.

I tried on exactly 3 items: a paisley kimono top, a nondescript cardigan that barely registers a memory, and those jeans. Sure, they were a little long. Sure, I could have gone with a bigger, looser, more tasteful size. But I was shopping for a party, and not just any party, but a party populated by judgmental gay men. The length I could solve with heels. The tightness I could solve with attitude.

The party that night? I hardly remember. But the jeans...Reader, it is a continuing affair. I wear them at least weekly, if not twice a week, since I bought them over a year ago. And every time I do, I feel like my butt is defying gravity! It's a magical allusion created by a cotton / Spandex weave, to be sure - but allusion or no, my confidence is authentic. I feel sassy just picking up dish soap at the grocery store.

It is my firm belief that every girl, but especially girls who live in Austin, where good jeans are nothing less than an allegiance to one's local laid-back culture, needs to have a pair of ass-kicking jeans in her closet. Tight "lift" jeans. Slouchy boyfriend jeans. Low-slung carpenter jeans. NO mom jeans. The pair you can wear for coffee or clubbing, and feel like an "11" in either setting.

Ladies: Where does this jean vendor exist in Austin? Does it exist? Good jeans are sort of like my Holy Grail in this town, and so far, I haven't found a refuge when those jeans finally fall apart on me. Austin is a city of jean-wearing fools, so I know it must be around here somewhere. Until then, I'll keep searching - eyes (and butt) lifted high.


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