Denim done did it.
Last weekend I trekked out with the best bud for the warehouse denim throwdown where I saw way too many women in their underwear (and a couple that didn't have any) and a couple of guys shopping for size 31 women's jeans. Nice.
After walking out with three pairs of jeans (WESC, Gold Sign and Evisu) I've officially entered douchebag jean-wearing territory. See, I used to roll my eyes at Evisu-clad guys because I never understood the appeal for having two huge half-clouds adorning my butt. Also, I couldn't understand someone paying upwards of $250 for denim. But, man, after I tried on a pair for kicks at the sale... I am sold. Granted, I didn't pay $250 (you all have permission to shoot me on sight if I get that ridiculous), but the logos on my butt = douchebag.
The denim is thick, but worn-in like your favorite pair after it had been run through the washer a hundred times. The stitching and overall construction is amazing and the fit makes me feel like I could dance or build a house in them.
The one pitfall? While wearing them at work the other day every time I scooted around in my ultra-suede upholstered seat the painted on logos would rub against the chair and squeak. I'm trying to think of it as an added secret bonus.
I figure all I need now is a BAPE hoodie, some crocodile-skin Nike Blazers and a pair of slatted Kanye-esque sunglasses and I'll be all set for the pages of Fader magazine. Word.
Completely unrelated: How sad am I that Torchwood is ending for the season soon? Crazy stupid sad.
