I went shopping for jeans recently. This is something I've been meaning to do for a long time, but have been putting off for as long as possible. Much as I enjoy the odd spot of retail therapy, shopping for jeans is a completely different kettle of fish. Unfortunately, I spend way too much time in jeans to get away with not buying a new pair every couple of years.
So, with the kids at my parents for an impromptu afternoon, it seemed like an opportunity that was too good to miss. If there is one thing I don't want to do while squeezing my thighs in and out of denim, it's have the kids dragging along. So far, so good.
In an ideal world, I would find my perfect pair, and simply buy the same ones every couple of years. The problem is that it just doesn't work like that. For starters, fashion does not pass the humble blue Jean by. For years, the trusty boot cut was my cut of choice. I blame Trinny and Susanna - apparently it had something to do with "balancing out" my childbearing hips. It seemed to work well for me in the days before children and sensible heel heights.
However, the humble bootcut made its way into the fashion wilderness, and (despite the occasional rumbling that this might be the year it returns to favoured status) that has been where it has stayed, usurped recently by the "skinny jean". The main problem with the "skinny" jean being that they don't instantly make you skinny, but instead assume you are waif-like to start with.
Good news, therefore, for those of is with the aforementioned childbearing hips as the "boyfriend" jean made its way into the scene. A looser, more flattering cut. Allegedly.
Now, what I don't understand about the boyfriend jean is why they are only apparently designed for people under five ft. Surely, the whole idea behind this cut is that they originated from women wearing their boyfriend's jeans (the clue is in the name?). Now, what I want to know why are the legs on these things so short?! Are all British boyfriends secretly blessed with the inside leg measurement of a 12 year old? It's just not logical, captain. And don't get me started on "girlfriend" jeans, which are apparently now also a thing.
It's all too difficult, if you ask me.
Which is why I'm now on my 3rd pair of "curvy straight" from The Gap. Middle aged jeans. Still, even that decision wasn't as easy as I might have hoped for. Why do manufacturers insist on fiddling with their sizing so much? Just when I thought I'd got all that American sizing lark sussed, it's gone and changed again.
So, yes, I have purchased 3 pairs of Gap's finest "curvy straight" over the years. I personally have not gained or lost a huge amount of weight in those years. The first pair (long since relegated to gardening only status) still for perfectly well. As do the second and the third. Between them, however, I am wearing what is supposed to be the exact same style in 3 (THREE) different dress sizes.
The nonsensical thing that the latest pair are supposedly a "size zero". No, I didn't believe it either. Exhibit A:
Now, Victoria Beckham is a size zero. Kate Moss is a size zero. I'm definitely not a size zero and probably haven't been since that horrible stomach bug in 1999.
You're not fooling anyone with this nonsense, Mr Gap. I therefore beg you: stop messing with my jeans.
Just. Stop.
So, with the kids at my parents for an impromptu afternoon, it seemed like an opportunity that was too good to miss. If there is one thing I don't want to do while squeezing my thighs in and out of denim, it's have the kids dragging along. So far, so good.
In an ideal world, I would find my perfect pair, and simply buy the same ones every couple of years. The problem is that it just doesn't work like that. For starters, fashion does not pass the humble blue Jean by. For years, the trusty boot cut was my cut of choice. I blame Trinny and Susanna - apparently it had something to do with "balancing out" my childbearing hips. It seemed to work well for me in the days before children and sensible heel heights.
However, the humble bootcut made its way into the fashion wilderness, and (despite the occasional rumbling that this might be the year it returns to favoured status) that has been where it has stayed, usurped recently by the "skinny jean". The main problem with the "skinny" jean being that they don't instantly make you skinny, but instead assume you are waif-like to start with.
Good news, therefore, for those of is with the aforementioned childbearing hips as the "boyfriend" jean made its way into the scene. A looser, more flattering cut. Allegedly.
Now, what I don't understand about the boyfriend jean is why they are only apparently designed for people under five ft. Surely, the whole idea behind this cut is that they originated from women wearing their boyfriend's jeans (the clue is in the name?). Now, what I want to know why are the legs on these things so short?! Are all British boyfriends secretly blessed with the inside leg measurement of a 12 year old? It's just not logical, captain. And don't get me started on "girlfriend" jeans, which are apparently now also a thing.
It's all too difficult, if you ask me.
Which is why I'm now on my 3rd pair of "curvy straight" from The Gap. Middle aged jeans. Still, even that decision wasn't as easy as I might have hoped for. Why do manufacturers insist on fiddling with their sizing so much? Just when I thought I'd got all that American sizing lark sussed, it's gone and changed again.
So, yes, I have purchased 3 pairs of Gap's finest "curvy straight" over the years. I personally have not gained or lost a huge amount of weight in those years. The first pair (long since relegated to gardening only status) still for perfectly well. As do the second and the third. Between them, however, I am wearing what is supposed to be the exact same style in 3 (THREE) different dress sizes.
The nonsensical thing that the latest pair are supposedly a "size zero". No, I didn't believe it either. Exhibit A:
Now, Victoria Beckham is a size zero. Kate Moss is a size zero. I'm definitely not a size zero and probably haven't been since that horrible stomach bug in 1999.
You're not fooling anyone with this nonsense, Mr Gap. I therefore beg you: stop messing with my jeans.
Just. Stop.
