Unfashionable fashion confession coming up. I’m not built for mom jeans. Or boyfriend jeans. Or girlfriend jeans (whatever they may be.) I’m not equipped for slouchy pants, or ‘slim’ legs, or any kind of jeans in fact, but skinny. I know, it’s very 2006. Very Kate Moss in ballet pumps on the school run, very Marissa and Ryan. Very, well, normal.
New research shows that skinny jean sales are down and consumers are choosing ‘soft dressing’ over denim, but I say no thanks to that. Not for me is sportswear-inspired garb – jogger, tracksuit pants – are for pyjama days, and when your boyfriend runs out of boxers for you to mooch about in. It has always been this way. I blame the jodhpur wearing of my childhood – the constant slick-to-the-skin feeling of zipped up, buttoned up tightness, necessary for the ability to bend over and pick up an apple in my mouth from the side of a pony.
The resurgence of skinny jeans, somewhere during peak jodhpur, was a game changer. My mum was initially sceptical, looking at my not-so-size-six frame. But now we’ve all got a pair, or nine – even my 36-inch legged flatmate who, until the beginning of this summer, had never found a pair to fit her. (We found the dream denim in Jack Wills. Bought three pairs each, bargain.)
Most brilliantly, although I needn’t tell you, they go with everything. Ankle boots, brogues, Birkenstocks, under-the-desk slippers (yep), barely-there stilettos, the lot. They don’t need much ironing, or constant desk chair crease maintenance, and there’s no awkward bending over situation. You’re not flashing anything with a pair of skinnies, apart from maybe your ankle. I love an exposed ankle: skinny jeans made measuring exactly how much to bare a very real possibility.
Skinnies do brunches, lunches and dates. They do ‘day to night’ – excuse the gross phrase – ‘effortlessly’. I’ve got skinny jeans I can slutdrop in – you know, if I fancied it – and the same pair will go to a conference. And they do. Another pair are part of my second date outfit: jeans, ankle boots, cami, Upper East Side cardigan. Yep, I’m 80. They show off the right part of me because now, having found The Pair, they’re flattering. Mom jeans have a long way to go before they’ll ever be that transferable. And I mean really, flat bum syndrome? No thanks.
I concede that it’s not all roses. They’re not too sexy to take off – bit like tights. Get them half way down and well, there’s that wiggling you’ve got to do. ‘Take off’ is more like ‘peel off’, but meh, semantics. There’s the whole just-washed sitch too. There’s tight, and there’s accidentally tumble-dried tight. I once got stuck in a pair and had to call for help. Moving house last year I lifted a box at the wrong angle and ripped a hole in my favourite pair. And not one of those arty holes, either.
But even though mom jeans are a thing, and all the cool girls at uni used to wear them with their clodhoppers and crop tops, I still look at girls on the street in their loafers, skinnies and light knits and think, boy, you look good. Stylish, easy, simple. Relaxed, too. For that is the power of the skinny: they pull everything together, whatever you look like, whatever you’re wearing. The ultimate staple.
Say no to loungewear. Viva la skinny. Find The One, and she’ll stay with you forever. Or at least, until her knees start to go.
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Pictures: Getty
This article originally appeared on The Debrief.