The Search for the Perfect Jeans

She brought me about 10 pairs – they were hanging everywhere. I couldn’t see the wall. Or even the mirror, which at the time was a blessing. The time spent in the small, cramped room was agonizing. I was trying on jeans.
I had decided to bite the bullet and get a really good (read expensive) pair of jeans that fit well. (Or so the ads say). I was hoping it would make me feel better about the upcoming holiday grazing season. Truth be known, I wanted it all: to be able to eat all my favorite things and still be able to wear something besides sweat pants. So, I found myself in an extremely upscale clothing store with a very perky sales clerk who obviously bought her tiny-sized jeans in the children’s department.
“Now remember”, she said to me as she squeezed her petite frame inside the four-walled torture chamber. “Even though they all might be the same size, every make is different. Even if it is the same brand. So I brought you a few sizes and styles.” This variety included, but was not limited to: stretch jeans, jeans that hold your stomach in, jeans that have a no-gap waist band, jeans for curvier bodies, jeans with a certain tint to them, jeans that are made for moms and not their teenage daughters, boot cut jeans, straight leg jeans and the infamous “though I have worked my butt off at the gym for months they won’t even fit my big toe” jeans.
So I started going through all the jeans, mentally purging them. I didn’t look at the sizes, since realistically it should not matter….but that didn’t last long. If I can wear a brand that is a size smaller, you know that’s the one I’m going for. Once I separated the “maybes” from the “no way will those fit” I started the agonizing procedure of trying them all on.
Miss perky pants kept peeking her head in, wanting me to model them for her. I gracefully told her “over my dead body” would she be allowed to see me squeezing my body in blue sausage casings. She did remind me that since jeans now have spandex, that the tightness will go away and they will fit normal after awhile.
“Define awhile” I squeaked as I lay down on the floor, tugging the jeans up my body. “Do they also come with oxygen masks since I can’t breathe until they loosen up?” I swear I heard her say something about me loosening up as she grabbed the quick growing “no” pile I pressed out the door. “Do you have this problem when you wear children’s jeans” I asked her as I came out into the brightly lit hallway to stare into the three-way fun house mirror. “They are 5 inches too long.”
“Well, we don’t really have the perfect ‘models’ body now, do we?” Just as I thought of some incredibly clever comeback I turned and tripped on the dragging 5 inch hem, huffing into the cinnamon scented plush carpet. She mentioned something about her seamstress being available next week for hemming, and that the jeans fit great except for the length. ”They were meant for much taller women, but of course we can make exceptions to the rule and tailor them to fit.
Not sure if you have read any reports about a very tall and thin sales clerk that reported someone threatened to stuff a pair of jeans down her throat. I am sure such a story could not be true. I myself am happy with the 4 pair of sweatpants I bought…and vow to not return to that store for quite awhile…especially for the torturous swimsuit season.

The Sisterhood of the "Designer Jeans that Fit"

I am still on my quest, and I really thought I was getting somewhere. I cleaned out closets, drawers, garage and more. I am living the experience that “less is more”. I am realizing that I am not the slave of my stuff. I am exfoliating the unwanted things right out of my life. My new mantra is: my stuff does not define me. Pillows, vases and clothes do not make the woman. I strive for freedom from clutter and chaos.

So then why am I so darned tickled to find a pair of extremely expensive designer jeans for a steal at a thrift store? (Don’t ask why I was there, since I did announce I am giving up thrift store shopping….).

I really didn’t believe it. I mean, they are just jeans, right? Who cares if “all” the stars are wearing them, that they are “all” the rage, and that the price tag on a pair of new ones is upwards of a car payment?

I mean I wasn’t looking for them. They found me, I swear. I was innocently walking down the aisle when I heard a soft whisper: “You need me.” What? “I want to own you. I will make you feel amazing.” Of course, I looked around hoping to find George Clooney, Hugh Jackman or Eric Bana (google him, trust me), saying those compelling words. But no, it was a pair of equally gorgeous jeans…in my size.

Now, as far as “sizes” go, we all know that each designer is different, and the “true” designers seem to fit smaller than most. So I was a little wary about buying these jeans, since the thrift store didn’t have dressing rooms. But hey, they were calling for me! They wanted to own me! These jeans would change my life, no doubt about it. And they were less than two morning lattés! I mean I would still be the same down to earth, stuff doesn’t matter Karen. But a newer better version because I had these jeans. I tried to walk past once, but they beckoned me back. They were serious. They wanted to go home with me. Ah, they were just jeans, not Hugh. But I did it. I bought them and brought them home.

I am wearing them right now. I may never take them off. Because these very expensive designer jeans that fit smaller and would normally cost the same as a mortgage fit me! And I love them as much as they love me. I’m still on the less is more mode. I mean I may just give away something else and keep the jeans. Like my car.

I never really got it. I didn’t understand the draw of very expensive jeans. Until now. It’s not a pair of jeans – it’s a feeling. It’s an “aha” moment. It’s a new book. The Sisterhood of the Designer Pants that Fit. That’s my next novel. Even though I didn’t get a date with George or Eric (and I really believe that my husband would have totally been cool with it), I got the jeans. And as soon as he sees me in them, I think my husband will be cool with the fact that I added to my wardrobe and didn’t give away something. And tomorrow, no more stuff. I promise.