Saturday, September 4, 2010

Shake A Fist - Hotchip

The Particular Sadness of Skinny Jeans

Skinny jeans and I have never had a strong friendship. They certainly weren't my friend today. I have worn them, yes. But as a former fat girl (and occasional pudgy girl), I have always been a little suspicious of their motives. When I found my perfect pair at H&M years ago, I thought they were okay. I would never be able to scale a wall or pull crazy action moves in them . . . but who needs to do that sort of stuff? At $20, I didn't have to hesitate. (My jeans are either stupidly expensive and crazy cheap, never mid-range and I don't know why this is).

Numerous denim ankle stranglers later and wearing an offending mint green Uniqlo pair today, I found myself hopelessly locked out of my house. I could have gone to my parents and waited for my roommate to return from the vineyard she was visiting but I had important things to do.

Like twittering.

I made up my mind. I was going to scale the wall to my back yard. Next I was going to hoist myself up on our garden shed. I would complete the move with climbing up to my balcony and letting myself in through my roommates window. Parkour be damned! This is the real deal. I executed the majority of this perfectly, thus shocking myself and celebrating too early with a "not too bad, old girl" mutter (high school gymnastics was good for something). Then came the final move. The balcony catapult.

I attempted to put my leg up. Halted. I tried again. It wasn't going to work. Apparently Uniqlo's denim is super strong and the odds of me hoisting my leg higher than a 45 degree angle were slim to none. Over and over again, I attempted to get a leg up on the ledge. Only to find each time that it wasn't going to happen. I sighed loudly. I was stuck on the roof of the garden shed with no way down. I was still locked out. There was no solution . . . but to take off my jeans. Looking both ways, I waited for various walkers and nature dwellers to pass my house (I live in a wooded area with many paths). When the coast was clear, I peeled the jeans off, threw them over my shoulder and climbed up the side of the house like it ain't no thing. I cursed myself for wearing attention grabbing striped underwear today. Once on the balcony, I scampered inside quickly and looked down at my pantless legs to laugh at myself. Did I really just climb up my balcony with no pants on?

And that concludes my buying of tight, skinny jeans. They're like a fire hazard . . . or something.

(Photo: Madewell, who has a variety of different types of denim, for those who won't buy skinny anymore).


Peas said...

I need a love button on here.

K.Line said...

How can you begrudge the garment that has given you this utterly memorable story??

WendyB said...

Best fashion story evah.

You need to tell this to Jennine of The Coveted, so she can use it on her denim blog.

erin@designcrisis said...

I am going to remember this next time I squat down, only to reveal the dreaded skinny jean plumber's crack. And then maybe, just maybe, I might yank those tight bitches off.

meredyth said...

You are becoming such a great writer! And I have to agree. I'm starting to hate my skinny jeans. Either that or I need to do a little visiting of the gym. Perhaps both.