You
like denim, right? I like denim. Actually, I love it. It’s
durable, versatile, washable and dryable.
Denim
jeans are one of mankind’s greatest inventions. Trends
come and go but jeans stay. A good pair of jeans is one of those
life-long investments, like Le Creuset cookware or a Zippo lighter
or a Leatherman MultiTool. Andy Warhol wished he’d invented
them and hoped to die in them. Armani called denim the ‘democracy
of fashion.’
Having
served humankind nobly, humbly and consistently for nearly 150
years, we owe denim. Yet this . . . this . . . is how we repay
it.
My
first question for Julia Fox is . . . are those things loaded?
Is that why Kanye’s standing behind her? Or is he just
avoiding having to look upon this ‘Barbarella meets the
Marlboro Man’ fiasco?
Julia
Fox isn’t the first to treat denim so rudely. She won’t
be the last. And, no, I’m not talking about mom jeans.
There’s a difference between designs that extinguish sex
appeal and ones that extinguish your corneas.
In
some ways, denim has been the victim of its own success. We
assume if a little is good, more is better. Hence a steady stream
of more denim things—including hats, tuxedos, gloves,
shoes, something called a ‘jeankini’ and even a
toilet seat cover (the irony!)
Wear
and tear on jeans is nice. It can happen organically or you
can buy them pre-distressed. Or, like Kim here, you can buy
them so pre-distressed the memes write themselves: ‘‘When
you survive an attack by a band of knife-wielding elves . .
. ‘When Edward Scissorhands cuts your hair blindfolded
. . . ’ ‘When you’re out and about in boyfriend
jeans and your boyfriend is a scarecrow.’
Because
they’re more visible, celebrities appear to commit the
lion’s share of denim offenses. Also, their insatiable
desire for attention leads them to take more risks. It’s
either that or they’re in the pocket of Big Gabardine,
on contract to undercut denim’s roaring success. Either
way, I ask you: Britney, Justin, Jessica, whoever you are, Katy
and Kim . . . what did denim ever do to you?
If
I were denim, I’d take out a restraining order against
Kim Kardashian. Though in all fairness, those thigh-high denim
hooker boots were probably Kanye’s idea. He is known to
command sartorial influence over his lady friends, If so, he
deserves to bow his head in shame.
Like
so many other indelible cultural stains—including smooth
jazz, spandex thong leotards and waterbeds—crimes against
denim began in the 1970s. This was the decade that gave us the
denim leisure suit, sometimes entirely in patchwork (those patches
look cool. Let’s go with ALL patches!).
The
upholstery of the AMC Gremlin Levi’s edition isn’t
actually denim but a woven nylon simulation, like what margarine
is to butter.
The
1980s showed denim a little more respect. It was a mixed-bag
decade of highs and lows. On the high side, there was this .
. . 
While
Brooke Shields’ iconic Calvin Klein ad won’t mean
much to late millennial and Gen-Z readers, it was, at the time,
a cultural atom bomb. Despite the negative publicity of featuring
a blatantly sexualized minor—and also because of the negative
publicity of featuring a blatantly sexualized minor—the
ad drove Calvin Klein’s high-waisted dark-wash jeans to
frenzied new heights.
The
old uniform of miners was now a high status symbol; a non-negotiable
must-have and absolutely de rigueur for the well-dressed Jewish
American Princess. Gilda Radner parodied this all-out obsession
on SNL in a sketch featuring the character Rhonda Weiss modeling
‘Jewess Jeans.’
She’s
an American princess. And a disco queen. She’s the Jewess
in Jewess Jeans.
Tagline: ‘you don’t have to be Jewish to wear them
(but it wouldn’t hurt.)’
On
the low side there was acid wash denim, which was OK at first
but WAY overplayed and abased by the context in which it originated.
This was the decade of block-pattern neon, fuchsia spandex unitards,
leg warmers, shoulder pads, piano ties and droppy-crotch parachute
pants.
In
November 1988, Anna Wintour proved that pushing boundaries didn’t
have to be so dreadful. For her first issue ever as Vogue’s
new editor, she initiated a cultural milestone by putting stonewash
jeans on the cover.
For
women of a certain age, seeing that cover for the first time
was a ‘where were you when JFK was shot’ moment.
I remember staring at it, mesmerized, at the Safeway checkout
in Calgary, sensing but not knowing its cultural significance.
Vogue’s signature haughty grandeur had come down a notch
and street fashion rose up to meet it, marking the beginning
of the now timeless high-low’ style. For Vogue, the departure
was so radical, the printing press called the magazine to make
sure there hadn’t been a mistake.
It
could be my imagination, but since Wintour made jeans more respectable,
we’ve gradually been growing a little kinder toward them.
It’s as though we humans will exhaust every crazy option
before acting sensibly. And boy have we exhausted every crazy
option.
