What do your ‘skinny jeans’ look like? You know, your magic jeans? The jeans that have outlasted most of your significant relationships, the jeans that at joyful moments throughout your adulthood actually fit you? The jeans that you keep as your ultimate yard stick of body measurement?
My skinny jeans are dark denim, straight leg Jags that I’ve had since my early 20s. They fit me… most of the time. Occasionally though, in the five odd years that I’ve owned them they reach varying levels of unwearable. Either far too baggy… or far too tight.
The last time my miracle jeans were in the unwearable state of baggy I was stressed and sick. I had terrible gastro that lasted for a full eight days, I was acting in a demanding and grueling play, I was moving house, I was bridesmaid in a wedding and I was about to leave the city I was raised in and my boyfriend and my family weren’t coming with me. I was miserable, living on a steady theatre diet of gummy bears, toast, red wine and insomnia. I was a wreck. I looked and felt, like shit.
Then, after I moved to my new city and sampled a few too many of its famous wine bars my skinny jeans once again became unwearable. On the other end of the spectrum. My new city was cold and cruel so I found comfort in stodgy food and cheap wine. I soon found that my recently baggy jeans were cutting off my circulation… to my calves. Physically and mentally it was the same as when the skinny jeans hung loose around my hips. I looked and felt like shit.
This got me thinking about my relationship with these jeans. I certainly didn’t look like shit when I bought them. I was in the throes of a new relationship, I was fit, healthy and incredibly happy. They fit me perfectly. It made me realise something important, something crucial about these jeans. These jeans aren’t my skinny jeans… they are my happy jeans. It’s no accident that when they fit me perfectly I’ve been sleeping well, exercising and eating good and nourishing food. They only fit me properly when I’m being good to myself.
I now use these jeans to gauge my happiness. If I try them on and they are a little snug I wonder why I’m feeling the need to overindulge. If I try them on, and they sit comfortably over my hips and button up without a sharp inhale of breath I know that I’m doing something right. If they don’t look like tracksuit pants I can be fairly certain that my mental state is on track. I’ll be honest though, it’s always a little exciting for them to be baggy but I refuse to forfeit my health to make it happen.
Over to you. Do you think that your skinny jeans might really be your happy jeans? And that the perfect fit might well be the right one?