Dirty Denim Project 3: Week 1: The Discomforts of Raw Jeans, Or Denim Identity Crises
October 1, 4, 6, 8
Day 1
I don’t own a full length mirror. I get dressed every morning, only able to see half of my outfit, and usually that’s fine. When making clothes that cover my lower half, I stand on a step stool several yards from my bathroom mirror and can see my whole self standing still from that distance. Most of the time when I put on my jeans, this is what I can see:
The first time I see my full outfit is when I go to the restroom at work, and I have to watch myself walking towards the full length mirror at the end of the hallway. On the first day I wore my jeans, I made sure to get to work a little early, so I could take pictures of myself in this mirror:
I was rushing, and generally feel uncomfortable around mirrors in public places. I then went on with my day.
My jeans felt stiff, of course, but after my walk into work, I felt natural enough moving in them. Bending was a little difficult, and sitting was fine but not quite comfortable; the front of the waistband dug into my torso, while the back gaped from my body more than an inch. While sitting, the rigid denim constricted my legs.
At one point during the day, I went into my phone to look at the pictures I had taken. And then it hit me that I hated my jeans. I hated the way I looked in them, I hated the way they looked on my body, and I hated the way they made me feel. Mostly, I hated the way the fabric folded just above my knees, creating a weird bulging shape on my leg.
I started to panic that I had made them in too masculine of a silhouette; I was afraid that they made me look masculine, or as if I am someone who wants to present myself in a masculine way. I’m feminine, I thought, and then, am I feminine? Are most of my clothes feminine? And what does that even mean? Why do we assign genders to clothing? Why would I think that a person could identity me by the way I dress? Do clothes help you to know who a person is? If I want the answer to that question to be no, then I’m in the wrong profession (am I in the wrong profession?). And why do I care so much?
If we unpack the first statement I made about myself wearing jeans, it was all about attempting to appear as normal and neutral as possible. I wanted to blend in in my unbranded denim. And then, I decided to go about as far away from that as possible…
These jeans look ridiculous, I thought. Why did I add the patch and the stitching on the back pockets? I stand out so much. Nobody around me is wearing jeans like these. But, so what? I don’t want to blend in. I know I am an outsider, and I don’t want to change the way I dress to fit in. I should stand out, because in this environment, I am different.
During the planning stages, I started to notice the jeans other people were wearing more. New trends are for wider-leg styles again, although it seems that most women in my work environment still wear slim, skinny jeans. Are wider legs just for the young? And, at 32, am I too old for that? Or am I still young? Are my jeans slim, or are they wide? Or neither?
Not trendy, and not the older style either. Why did I make them like this? I should have done more research, I should have picked a more feminine silhouette. I don’t like these, and I don’t know if I want to do this project anymore. Or, I could still do it, but nobody has to know. And then I’m just wearing jeans that look and feel terrible and nobody knows why.
At that point I had already written several documents of text that would become my first blog post, and sent them to my sister for feedback. If I didn’t go through with it, would I be disappointing her? I would have wasted her time for nothing. All because of my stupid insecurities that I was trying to claim I’d moved past.
So, I moved past them. Did it anyway. Documented this.
(But also, my second pair of jeans is going to be more feminine. Whatever that means.)
Day 2
While in the restroom, I noticed that the fabric on the inner waistband around my buttonhole looked like it was about to fray. I started to brainstorm possible repairs. What I most wanted to do was remove all of the buttonhole stitches, apply interfacing on the inside of my waistband pieces under the buttonhole, and redo the stitches. But I knew that if I attempted to do that, I would probably do irreparable damage to the fabric. I could apply the interfacing to the outside of the fabric, on the inside of the waistband, for extra support. No one else would see it, but I would, and it would serve a constant reminder of my mistakes. I should have just done it right in the first place, so the buttonhole wouldn’t already be falling apart on day two.
But, isn’t the whole point that these jeans are going to get a little destroyed? I’m supposed to want the tears and the fades and whatever else might happen as a result of the life lived in them. I’m not supposed to want to control the situation, to keep them perfect and pristine.
But, the buttonhole breaking is my own fault. It’s a reflection of my faulty construction. And it needs to stay intact for functional reasons.
When I got home, I saw that the damage wasn’t that bad. I applied Fray Check all around the edges of the buttonhole. Before the next time I wore them, I did some quick whip stitches in the problem area in a navy thread.
Day 3
On this day, it actually rained. I started my walk to work wondering how much rain water would get on my jeans—this water wouldn’t matter, because it was natural and unplanned. I crossed paths with a man wearing a headlamp and a camper’s backpack, and saw out of the corner of my eye when he made a wide U-turn and ended up very close to my side. He told me that he’d missed his turn, had been going the wrong way. I stepped aside, putting a puddle in the street between us, and let him step onto the sidewalk ahead of me. He kept turning around to tell me about how he’d been going the wrong way, and then, finally, to tell me—anonymous as a mailbox in my blue raincoat and jeans—that I was pretty. I felt overburdened with things. Umbrella, thermos, water bottle, lunchbox. Best weapon? Water bottle, unfortunately in my non-dominant hand. Anything and everything as necessary.
After I’d given no response, he gave up, kept walking, and turned down the next street, which would loop around and take him back exactly the way he’d been going in the first place. So maybe nothing happened, except that I forgot to appreciate the rain.
And also, it didn’t matter what I was wearing. Maybe that was the moment I stopped worrying about how I looked in my jeans.
Day 4
Nothing new to report.
I spent most of these days standing, except for my half hour lunch break and other brief moments throughout the day. I walked to and from work every day. I started to feel more comfortable in my jeans. I almost wished once that I could just wear these jeans every day, but my experiment didn’t account for that much wear. These jeans began to become mine, and I began to love them.
Also, washing my other jeans less, washing my sheets less, washing my hair less.
