Our student social blogger delves into his hatred (or love?) of skinny jeans. Warning: Utterly worthless ramblings
I read a short while ago, that all good philosophies start with a confession. Considering that the bloke who said it had his own book published and I think he had a single Greek name, I'm taking it for granted that he was probably a bit sharper than me. I know this is not a foolproof way of measuring intelligence (I'd like to think I stood a chance of beating Stelios in a game of Scrabble, or at the very worst Connect Four) but I guess I like the direction in which this idea takes us.
So, a confession. It's been a while but I think they go something like this: forgive me Father, for I have sinned. Recently, I have spent a disproportionate amount of my waking life harbouring feelings of ill fortune towards those people who think it's cool to wear skinny jeans. Yes. That's it. I hate your skinny jeans and everything they stand for. You sit their peering down your nose at us in your painted on denim, talking about matters relating only to yourself and frankly the whole thing is really quite boring.
Damn that pesky Pandora.
Now, I know hate is a pretty strong word. I also know that feelings of hatred generally deserve to be qualified. For example, it's probably justifiable to say things like I hate acts of mindless violence in the community because the only purpose they serve is to perpetuate violence. Similarly, one might be inclined to say I hate going to the dentist because he always insists on trying to clean my teeth with the end of his penis - You shouldn't laugh. Dental care is very expensive these days and he fits me in at short notice. I'm confident that we are all standing on common ground here. Skinny jeans though. How can I justify that?
More astute readers may be starting to suspect me. Hate, is of course, a rather revealing word. If you buy into this whole notion that acts of communication are undertaken only to conceal what we are really thinking, then you're probably thinking that something funny is going on. Well damn you all I think you're right. Am I actually trying to say that I secretly love skinny jeans? Should I tell my dad about this?
Hang on a minute. This is all getting a bit out of hand. You're putting words in my mouth.
Let's try another confession and go right to the root of the problem: for a year of my life, loath as I am to admit it, I owned a pair of skinny jeans. Happy now? What? Oh, the other pair. Well, I suppose yes maybe I did have two. Oh fuck it alright for a year of my life I wore skinny jeans every single day. There I said it.
It's true, I did. I'm not proud of it. I don't now how it happened, but it did. I have since dealt with this affliction and I'm happy to say that I'm safely into a pair of regular width jeans and I'm reaping the rewards. My balls have thankfully repaid me by returning to their original shape and size, and strangely I went to my dentist the other day and he insisted on using his toothbrush. My sex life has however slowed down since those halcyon days. A connection? I wouldn't dare speculate.
So, what is it about them that draws us in and why do people insist on wearing them? What makes these strange looking urchins that prance about Camden Road so appealing? Because I'm starting to think there's something magnetic about them.
Women in skinny jeans look pretty hot I think you'll agree. I don't want to be size-ist but there are few sights better than a waif of a girl dressed in the article under discussion posing and pouting at the bar perfectly aware that everybody is transfixed. She's totally unapproachable of course, but that's the beauty of it. Fact is, if you tried to undress her in a fit of passion, I don't think your manhood could ever forgive you. Picture it - Everything's locked and ready to go, you're on track six of your Boyz II Men CD, you're getting a little tired of aimlessly fumbling around with her chest and so it comes to the bit where you have to get her down to her undercrackers. And the bastards just. won't. budge. These things were not designed to be removed. That's pretty much it once they're on. And so you find yourself in a bit of a pickle. This is a high pressure environment at the best of times. You're already concentrating hard, this is not the kind of obstacle one needs to deal with in such a precarious moment - So don't even take it to that stage. Just be scared of them. Stand back and admire instead. She's probably a stuck up bitch anyway...
So we've established that they make women look good. But men wear them too - there are few sights that amuse me more than blokes doing an "Indie stomp" in a pair of their younger sister's jeans. A manly man wouldn't do this would he? But then, do we really need manly men?
Well, rather interestingly, apparently so. I'd say about nine out of my last ten relationships have ended because I wasn't assertive enough. Of course I would have fixed it if I only knew where to start, but that's not the point. I've always been slightly scared by sex, I hate the idea of defiling something I adore, or corrupting the intimacy of companionship. I like the idea of it being a joint effort - but I keep coming a cropper. But then I have never been out with a girl in skinny jeans.
In the midst of all this aimless ranting, I think there is a point emerging. What is it that I'm seeing around the streets of Camden and decorating the celebrity pages of the tabloids? Let's take another step back.
I always gloss over the fact that London is one of the centres of the World for this kind of carry on. It is altogether too easy to get bogged down in the minutiae of the habitual and miss the fact that big things often happen right before your eyes. Is there more to all this than just a tight pair of denims? Is it an expression of a deeply felt cultural phenomenon that has been developing over a number of decades -- or even centuries? Maybe what I'm saying is that I like this amorphous shapeshifting cult of the skinny jeans, where men and women can pretty much mirror each other exactly. Is that what bugs me about it? Are the skinny jeans just an outward sign of reciprocity and sexual equality in the bedroom? Maybe that's what scares me: A female sexuality that mirrors its male counterpart.
It goes without saying that in twenty years time I'll be telling my illegitimate children who tracked me down on the interweb, that their old man was a part of that scene. Of course I'll be lying out my arse but never let the truth get in the way of good story and all that.
Skinny jeans are not a new invention and it's more likely that all this ranting is just the pretentious ramblings of an undergraduate looking for something to do. As with most these things these days, skinny jeans could just be a throw back to a period where all this was tried and tested and pretty much died on its arse. Is this the kind of reciprocity I've been searching for? Or is it just narcissism in a Postmodern society bent on pastiche and parody? Who knows? What I do know is that this area of doubt is enough for me to justify continuing my hatred.
I will be honest for probably the first time today and say that I think it is fucking cool that men and women can dress exactly the same and still look good. I think it's cool that men can mince about as queer as you like and it still might be one of the finest incarnations of a new heterosexuality that I've seen. It might be. I hope it is. I still fear that being trendy means being shallow, stale and cowardly - the worst combination for a modern sexuality imaginable - but I live in hope.
I also live in Camden: and you just never know your luck in the big city now do you.
So what does it all mean then? Well I'm damned if I know. But let me leave you with a few questions for our skinny jeans wearing companions. Does it really work for you? Do they really make you feel good about yourself? Can you even get the change out of your pocket? See I'm doubtful - and this is of course the voice of experience talking. I fear that one day you might catch a glimpse of your reflection on your way to the Lock Tavern...Actually let me rephrase. One day when your watching your reflection as you do whenever you go anywhere, you might actually see how ridiculous the whole thing is. You'll look a bit closer and you'll think, "My word man, these jeans are tighter than a camel's arse in a sandstorm. What the devil was I thinking?" And you'll cry, upset at how foolish you looked and about how desperate you were to be cool. Ok, you probably won't cry, but I'd like you to.
Of course this day will probably come when the Overlords of fashion deem it unfathomable to wear any type of denim whatsoever in some ironic tribute to the fashion of 1999. But the day will come. And I await it with baited breath. Maybe then I'll feel a sense of pride about my own pair of skinny jeans. I'll look at my kids and I'll say "yeah but it was the fashion. Everybody did it. Oh, we were crazy cats. The stories I could tell you." But for now, I've decided that the whole thing is a little bit like a stupid dwarf -- It's not big, and it's not clever. (I don't know who first said that but they can definitely consider it stolen.)
First published 6 January 2007
I read a short while ago, that all good philosophies start with a confession. Considering that the bloke who said it had his own book published and I think he had a single Greek name, I'm taking it for granted that he was probably a bit sharper than me. I know this is not a foolproof way of measuring intelligence (I'd like to think I stood a chance of beating Stelios in a game of Scrabble, or at the very worst Connect Four) but I guess I like the direction in which this idea takes us.
So, a confession. It's been a while but I think they go something like this: forgive me Father, for I have sinned. Recently, I have spent a disproportionate amount of my waking life harbouring feelings of ill fortune towards those people who think it's cool to wear skinny jeans. Yes. That's it. I hate your skinny jeans and everything they stand for. You sit their peering down your nose at us in your painted on denim, talking about matters relating only to yourself and frankly the whole thing is really quite boring.
Damn that pesky Pandora.
Now, I know hate is a pretty strong word. I also know that feelings of hatred generally deserve to be qualified. For example, it's probably justifiable to say things like I hate acts of mindless violence in the community because the only purpose they serve is to perpetuate violence. Similarly, one might be inclined to say I hate going to the dentist because he always insists on trying to clean my teeth with the end of his penis - You shouldn't laugh. Dental care is very expensive these days and he fits me in at short notice. I'm confident that we are all standing on common ground here. Skinny jeans though. How can I justify that?
More astute readers may be starting to suspect me. Hate, is of course, a rather revealing word. If you buy into this whole notion that acts of communication are undertaken only to conceal what we are really thinking, then you're probably thinking that something funny is going on. Well damn you all I think you're right. Am I actually trying to say that I secretly love skinny jeans? Should I tell my dad about this?
Hang on a minute. This is all getting a bit out of hand. You're putting words in my mouth.
Let's try another confession and go right to the root of the problem: for a year of my life, loath as I am to admit it, I owned a pair of skinny jeans. Happy now? What? Oh, the other pair. Well, I suppose yes maybe I did have two. Oh fuck it alright for a year of my life I wore skinny jeans every single day. There I said it.
It's true, I did. I'm not proud of it. I don't now how it happened, but it did. I have since dealt with this affliction and I'm happy to say that I'm safely into a pair of regular width jeans and I'm reaping the rewards. My balls have thankfully repaid me by returning to their original shape and size, and strangely I went to my dentist the other day and he insisted on using his toothbrush. My sex life has however slowed down since those halcyon days. A connection? I wouldn't dare speculate.
So, what is it about them that draws us in and why do people insist on wearing them? What makes these strange looking urchins that prance about Camden Road so appealing? Because I'm starting to think there's something magnetic about them.
Women in skinny jeans look pretty hot I think you'll agree. I don't want to be size-ist but there are few sights better than a waif of a girl dressed in the article under discussion posing and pouting at the bar perfectly aware that everybody is transfixed. She's totally unapproachable of course, but that's the beauty of it. Fact is, if you tried to undress her in a fit of passion, I don't think your manhood could ever forgive you. Picture it - Everything's locked and ready to go, you're on track six of your Boyz II Men CD, you're getting a little tired of aimlessly fumbling around with her chest and so it comes to the bit where you have to get her down to her undercrackers. And the bastards just. won't. budge. These things were not designed to be removed. That's pretty much it once they're on. And so you find yourself in a bit of a pickle. This is a high pressure environment at the best of times. You're already concentrating hard, this is not the kind of obstacle one needs to deal with in such a precarious moment - So don't even take it to that stage. Just be scared of them. Stand back and admire instead. She's probably a stuck up bitch anyway...
So we've established that they make women look good. But men wear them too - there are few sights that amuse me more than blokes doing an "Indie stomp" in a pair of their younger sister's jeans. A manly man wouldn't do this would he? But then, do we really need manly men?
Well, rather interestingly, apparently so. I'd say about nine out of my last ten relationships have ended because I wasn't assertive enough. Of course I would have fixed it if I only knew where to start, but that's not the point. I've always been slightly scared by sex, I hate the idea of defiling something I adore, or corrupting the intimacy of companionship. I like the idea of it being a joint effort - but I keep coming a cropper. But then I have never been out with a girl in skinny jeans.
In the midst of all this aimless ranting, I think there is a point emerging. What is it that I'm seeing around the streets of Camden and decorating the celebrity pages of the tabloids? Let's take another step back.
I always gloss over the fact that London is one of the centres of the World for this kind of carry on. It is altogether too easy to get bogged down in the minutiae of the habitual and miss the fact that big things often happen right before your eyes. Is there more to all this than just a tight pair of denims? Is it an expression of a deeply felt cultural phenomenon that has been developing over a number of decades -- or even centuries? Maybe what I'm saying is that I like this amorphous shapeshifting cult of the skinny jeans, where men and women can pretty much mirror each other exactly. Is that what bugs me about it? Are the skinny jeans just an outward sign of reciprocity and sexual equality in the bedroom? Maybe that's what scares me: A female sexuality that mirrors its male counterpart.
It goes without saying that in twenty years time I'll be telling my illegitimate children who tracked me down on the interweb, that their old man was a part of that scene. Of course I'll be lying out my arse but never let the truth get in the way of good story and all that.
Skinny jeans are not a new invention and it's more likely that all this ranting is just the pretentious ramblings of an undergraduate looking for something to do. As with most these things these days, skinny jeans could just be a throw back to a period where all this was tried and tested and pretty much died on its arse. Is this the kind of reciprocity I've been searching for? Or is it just narcissism in a Postmodern society bent on pastiche and parody? Who knows? What I do know is that this area of doubt is enough for me to justify continuing my hatred.
I will be honest for probably the first time today and say that I think it is fucking cool that men and women can dress exactly the same and still look good. I think it's cool that men can mince about as queer as you like and it still might be one of the finest incarnations of a new heterosexuality that I've seen. It might be. I hope it is. I still fear that being trendy means being shallow, stale and cowardly - the worst combination for a modern sexuality imaginable - but I live in hope.
I also live in Camden: and you just never know your luck in the big city now do you.
So what does it all mean then? Well I'm damned if I know. But let me leave you with a few questions for our skinny jeans wearing companions. Does it really work for you? Do they really make you feel good about yourself? Can you even get the change out of your pocket? See I'm doubtful - and this is of course the voice of experience talking. I fear that one day you might catch a glimpse of your reflection on your way to the Lock Tavern...Actually let me rephrase. One day when your watching your reflection as you do whenever you go anywhere, you might actually see how ridiculous the whole thing is. You'll look a bit closer and you'll think, "My word man, these jeans are tighter than a camel's arse in a sandstorm. What the devil was I thinking?" And you'll cry, upset at how foolish you looked and about how desperate you were to be cool. Ok, you probably won't cry, but I'd like you to.
Of course this day will probably come when the Overlords of fashion deem it unfathomable to wear any type of denim whatsoever in some ironic tribute to the fashion of 1999. But the day will come. And I await it with baited breath. Maybe then I'll feel a sense of pride about my own pair of skinny jeans. I'll look at my kids and I'll say "yeah but it was the fashion. Everybody did it. Oh, we were crazy cats. The stories I could tell you." But for now, I've decided that the whole thing is a little bit like a stupid dwarf -- It's not big, and it's not clever. (I don't know who first said that but they can definitely consider it stolen.)
First published 6 January 2007
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