Now, I realise that this sounds a pretty hyperbolic, but I have a chronic fear of denim. Jeans, specifically. I am so terrified of them that I have actually only worn them twice in four years. This may sound utterly ridiculous for those of you who spend your lives in jeans – probably looking sexy in nothing more than some skinnies, a wafer thin T-shirt revealing a hint of lacy bra and a slick of mascara. But whilst I’ve always dreamed of looking like American Pie-era Madonna in denim, I more often than not err closer to Jeremy Clarkson.
I’ve always felt like people who look at home in jeans have been part of some big conspiracy. They look so effortless and carefree in free in them and it simply doesn’t make sense to me. How are they doing it? To me, jeans are neither comfortable nor effortless, they are a massive pain in the arse – literally. On the few occasions I’ve worn them, I’ve felt like my butt was being attacked from all sides. They were so tight I couldn’t sit down.
I think part of the problem is I have absolutely no idea what to wear with them in order to flatter my shape. When I was in my early twenties and a size 8, wearing jeans was no big deal because I just chucked on a T-shirt and was good to go. But these days I’m a pretty standard size 10/12 hourglass and I just struggle to find anything that doesn’t make me look like a middle-aged substitute teacher trying to get ‘down with the kids’. Saying I’m an hourglass may sound like a humble brag, but I assure you it isn’t – put an hourglass over a size 8 in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and you skim over all the good bits (like her waist), turning her into one giant tit-arse on legs. A tarse, if you will.
Jeans make me feel like I’m about 2st heavier than I am. Boy mates have always told be that I should show off my legs by wearing jeans but the fact is I just don’t feel sexy in them. Dresses and skirts have been my uniform now for the best part of a decade, when I wear trousers I feel like I’m in fancy dress, which just makes me feel self-conscious. Plus, they always seem to fall down and show the crack of my arse, which really isn’t hot. Say no to crack, kids.
So it was with some trepidation that I headed to Trilogy’s flagship store in Kensington to try out their ‘denim experience’ – a failsafe shopping set-up that promises to leave even the most terrified jean wearer with a pair of their own denim. My hatred of jeans isn’t helped by the act of going to buy them – also known as a sweat-inducing, florescent light glaring, self-esteem crushing torture technique. I’ve never ben able to buy a pair of jeans without having to try on at least 30 pairs before settling on the ‘least awful’ pair. As a total jeans novice what the hell I’m looking for, so I always end up leaving with a lighter wallet and a heavier heart, disappointed that, yet again, I’ve not managed to find a pair of jeans that don’t make me look like an over-stuffed sausage.
The experts at Trilogy listened patiently as I relayed the above to them, whilst subtlety looking me up and down. At first, I was worried I’d spilt some of the sandwich I’d eaten on the tube down my front, but I soon realise that they were figuring out what size I was likely to be, knowing by what I was saying that I’d have no bloody clue. Having been styled for a few photo shoots in my capacity of a journalist, I know how this turns out – when someone guesses your size you either end up with something so loose and enormous it’s X-rated, or something so small you can barely squeeze your left tit into it.
But when the jeans experts came down with their selection, I was surprised (pleasantly) to see that the first pair of ‘hunter high rise’ jeans from James they gave me fit perfectly. Hesitant at first, because, as straight-leg, dark denim stretchy jeans they weren’t the sort of thing I’d typically pick up because I’d assume they were too old for me, I literally couldn’t believe what I saw when I looked in the mirror. The celever darting, the sales assistant explained, helped slim-line my legs and because the jeans were straight, not skinny, they balanced out my hip – important for anyone with a bit of junk in thier trunk, apparently. Far from making me look mumsy, they’d lifted my arse and slimmed down my legs in a way I’d thought impossible in denim and, as I walked out in to the (impossibly swanky) changing room, I realised I was walking taller and with a bit of a Jessica Rabbit wiggle. This was all a bonus.
The second pair they brought out was, if anything more flattering. Again the ‘straight leg’ jeans from Paige weren’t the sort of thing I would have picked up ordinarily, but again the assistants pointed out how the the clever darting down the front, the thick material to hold in your lumps and bumps and the positioning of the pockets made my bum look not only smaller but higher and, with the aid of some heels, made my legs look much more lithe. In other words: jeans that I would actually leave the house in.
Drunk on my new found success, I tried out a few other styles like a ‘Marrakesh’ flare from MIH, boyfriend cuts from Frame and Paige that, whilst a more paired down, dark variations of the trend, managed to be flattering with a subtle nod to fashion trends. Whilst I’ve got to admit I wasn’t tempted to buy them, this was the closest I’d ever come to a denim look that would make me consider dumping the dresses for something a bit more casual looking.
It was weird – I knew that I really shouldn’t be liking what I saw when I looked in the mirror and they were such a depature from my normal look that it took a while for me to get to grips with it, but every pair they brought out made me realise that perhaps my issue the whole time hasn’t been with the jeans, but with my own body hang-ups. I didn’t like some pairs of jeans because I didn’t like they way they made me look or accentuated parts of my body I wanted to hide, but why is that any different to any other piece of clothing? I’d steer away from baby-doll dressed without batting an eye-lid, so why had I allowed jeans to take on so much mythical importance? Some jeans suit me, some don’t – that’s really not a big deal is it?
I’ll admit that since my denim experience the vasy majority of my wardrobe remains skirts and dresses, but, yes, there is now a pair of straight-legged, dark-wash jeans from Paige in my wardrobe. They’re not at all scary and I’ve even managed to wear them three times in a month, which is once more than I’d managed in four years before. I can even (just about) sit down in them too.
Follow Sophie on Twitter @sophiecullinane
This article originally appeared on The Debrief.