Jeans are a fickle thing. Everyone has a pair, even if you don't really like them. Not owning jeans seems a sign of some type of defect. "What do you mean you don't have a pair of jeans?" They'll say. But a good pair of jeans is difficult to find. So many styles; boyfriend, skinny, super skinny, bootcut, straight-leg. So many colours; blue, light blue, black, grey, white. Acidwash, stonewash, ripped. The options are endless.
And even when you find ones that are seemingly perfect, there is no guarantee they'll fit right. Even if they fit perfectly they still might not look good. One almost questions why such a difficult piece of clothing became such a wardrobe staple. But alas it did, and we must go through the routine every couple of months as we squeeze ourselves into another pair in a seemingly endless line of jeans which are all the same, but all slightly different.
Like sandwiches.
At the end of the day, sandwiches consist of bread, filling and opional condiment. That's it. No matter how you build it, what you fill it with, whether it's toasted or not. The possibilities are endless, within a set spectrum. You might like one sandwich more than another, you might get cravings for different sandwiches, you might find a favourite or constantly be searching for the perfect sandwich.
This is how I feel about jeans. Sandwichs are just bread and stuff. Jeans are just denim on your butt. It's when you get a good one, or a good pair, a certain feeling takes over. Suddenly your problems seem smaller, the day seems brighter, because you've conquered this challenge.
Until tomorrow lunchtime, or next season.
Whatever comes first.
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