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In Which I Change My Mind on Hating Blue Jeans and Discuss my New Found Religion

Brother I ain’t askin,

They say they love my ass ‘n,

Seven Jeans, True Religion‘s,

I say no, but they keep givin’…

In Which I Change My Mind on Hating Blue Jeans and Discuss my New Found Religion

My lifelong battle with denim started when I immigrated to this country from the USSR. Being super poor, (like waiting at church for a block of cheese poor) my parentals dressed me in the finest Goodwill had to offer, and since all they could afford were one pair of blue jean overalls a season, they made their way into my empty closet and eventually became my statement piece for a few years of middle school. In Russia, girls worn uniforms, so it was common for me to go weeks in the same outfit, washed the night before. It wasn’t until the school sent a care package of donated clothes from my classmates, with a box of deodorant, that I finally had a bit of a wardrobe to work with.

That uniform ended up haunting me until we finally had enough money to extend our shopping habits to Old Navy, and I discovered wide leg denim, in that awful time where every broke-ass suburban kid wore oversized JNCO’s and Pepe Jeans, brands known to have pant legs that were wider than their waists. You could technically squeeze an extra person or two in, which made them that much more desirable to an awkward teenager trying to fit in while progressively gaining a lead in the boob department over all other classmates. Que the phase in which everything I wore was two sizes too big, making me look like a baggy, overweight homeless woman with a love of Performance Fleece.


In Which I Change My Mind on Hating Blue Jeans and Discuss my New Found Religion

In Which I Change My Mind on Hating Blue Jeans and Discuss my New Found Religion

In Which I Change My Mind on Hating Blue Jeans and Discuss my New Found Religion


When I finally grew out of my terrible blues, and lost some of the baby weight, I completely swore off denim and decided that girly, overt-femininity with touches of Russian luxury was gonna be my thing, and I’ve played off of that for a few years, modifying as I’ve grown as a woman and engaging in little style experiments along the way.

Later, when I grew out of that high school scene, I began my 3-year stint at Saks Fifth Avenue, where I was forced to wear denim, a product of the heyday of the premium jeans boom. I had traded in my bleach-washed Old Navy’s for pairs of $300 Theory’s, Joe’s and Citizen’s, finding comfort in their price tag and way they shaped my Chosen People Rump, but never fully falling for my former lover, a resentment formed from finding myself at the tailend of Mean Girl-eque hijinks through most of my childhood years due to my secondhand blue jeans. I swear, Regina George’s were everywhere back then.

These days, I rarely wear denim. I currently only own one pair, some legging style jeans from Uniqlo, which are so stretched out, they make my butt sag, a problem from a few too many cycles through the laundry. But now that I’m a “fashion blogger”, I felt the need to try and reconnect with my denim past, make amends, and come to terms with the need for some premium blue in my closet.


I decided to hit up True Religion, partially cause of Fergie, partially cause it’s one of the few brands I’ve never tried on before, partially cause they have a store on Union Square, a few blocks from my apartment.

Inside, the walls were filled with choices, a denim library which contained classic washes, colored jeans and printed pieces which reminded me of runway collections. I decided I was going to find the perfect boyfriend jeans, a desire I’ve had since  seeing way too many models off duty, looking painfully chic in loose-fitting rolled up blues. The shopette suggested a pair of Brianna’s, a classic carpenter style, which she said would stretch to have the perfect fit.


In Which I Change My Mind on Hating Blue Jeans and Discuss my New Found Religion

The jeans made my ass look unbelievable. Which is all any girl really cares about…

After a few quick moves from Charlie’s Butt dance, I made my way to the register.

I balked for a second at the $248 price tag, doing quick math on how many pairs this amount could get me at Goodwill, only to slap myself back to reality, and reminded myself that that girl is long gone and her overalls are a thing of the past.

Swipe the card, pack the bag, style the look, and now I’m upstairs on my roof, looking f***ing fly, happy about a new relationship with a very old friend.

By the way, check out their new Spring campaign video, of course it’s filled with beautiful half naked models frolicking on a beach, that I’m very envious of, as they look way better in the jeans than I do.


Written by Beca Alexander

My spirit animal is Michelle Harper.