Jeans evolved from workwear to a style icon, with the quest for the perfect pair reflecting changing fashion and personal taste.
Let me start off with an exaggeration that I’m sure many would agree with anyway: everything in one’s outfit comes down to the pants. Pants could make or break an outfit; how it sits on your body, how it interacts with your footwear, its length vis-a-vis the intended vibe of your outfit, all factors into how it forms coherence within a look. Pants break the upper and lower part of one’s whole look, and thus, feature most prominently.
All that being said, I am always on the hunt for the perfect pair of pants. Of course perfection is a bit of an illusion, yet I live for the pursuit anyway. Taking and retaking one’s own measurements, endless scrolling through e-commerce platforms, try-ons in stores, all too familiar for me, and I’m sure many others. In this pursuit, there’s perhaps no singular garment more impactful than a pair of jeans for a generation of guys, mine.
While accounts differ, it is widely agreed that denim fabric as we know today was invented in Nîmes, France in the late 17th century. Its invention was somewhat of an accident, as the fabric weavers from Nîmes actually attempted to reproduce a type of hard-wearing fabric from Genoa, Italy, but ended up with a similar yet different type of material. This new material was made using a twill weave, where the weft passes under the warp threads. The front-facing warp threads were dyed blue with indigo plant, and the inner weft is left in its natural color. The material that the French weavers tried to recreate was called “jeane”, after the city (notice the word’s similarity with “jeans”), and the new fabric was called serge de Nîmes, which translates to “twill of Nîmes” (notice the naming once more).
Zoomed in image of faded denim threads (via Achim Hering)
Originally made for miners and workers, modern jeans were then popularized as casualwear by the likes of Marlon Brando and James Dean through their films. Jeans then became a symbol of counterculture, resonating with youths throughout the decades afterwards. The bikers, punks, skateboarders, and (insert a subculture name here) all had their connection with jeans, and the pants became a default for youth everywhere.
James Dean in Rebel Without A Cause (via IMDb)
During the 2010s, Hedi Slimane’s tenure in Dior Homme (and later on Saint Laurent Paris) revolutionized menswear by way of his obsession with rock culture. Sharp cuts became the norm, and to look intentionally dishevelled was aspirational. This in turn influenced how guys prefer their jeans; ultra skinny cuts, narrow leg openings, Japan-made. The astronomical prices also shaped the perception that jeans can be a luxury item now. Then came the 2010s.
As a guy who came of age during the era, jeans are usually the first garment that many of us really care about. They have always been there, but the tail end of the 2000s culminated in a shift in the way we approach jeans. Fuelled by the newfound connection of online forums, guys throughout the world bonded over fashion with jeans as the starting point. Heritage-inspired menswear was having its moment, and what menswear enthusiasts pine after were jeans in its purest form; raw. These are jeans that are untreated, a far cry from the trendy processed jeans from past decades. Raw denim is hard, rigid, and uniformly blue. There’s a period of breaking in required from every pair, which translates to a few weeks of discomfort. As for the fades, you need to earn them through repeated wearing. Whiskers, honeycomb, and train tracks—all of them referring to denim fades in particular spots—became the vernacular. This leads to a generation of guys essentially only wearing the same pair of jeans everyday, a second skin of sorts.
The platonic ideal jeans during the era can be defined by a few characteristics, all of them point to its vintage origins: dyed with natural indigo, selvedge fabric, button fly, and chain stitching. For the uninitiated, natural denim coloring comes from the Indigofera tinctoria plant, and the process of dyeing itself is both labor and time intensive. Selvedge refers to denim woven in old shuttle looms, with clean fabric edges that don’t require trimming or overlocking (self-edge). The looms produce these fabrics rather slowly, and are difficult to maintain, yet the resulting fabric yields natural slubs and soft handfeel that cannot be replicated through modern means. As opposed to modern zipper flies, button flies are more durable. They lay naturally on the crotch and would not bunch up in unnatural manners. Chain stitching finishes this ideal pair with one continuous thread looped back on itself—creating seams that are stretchy. These details are impossible to achieve through shortcuts, making the relatively high price points reasonable. It was the first time I understood that luxury means no compromise.
So what did this mean for me? What was the perfect pair of jeans for me during that time? I looked to local heavyweights for my fix during university days. Pairs I look back on with fondness include Potmeetspop’s Super Thaistick which faded really nicely and its replacement pair from Mischief that just wouldn’t fade no matter how hard I wear them. They fit decidedly slim, with lengths that go far beyond the ankle so that I could cuff them twice. They both started off as dark navy before being beaten to death, as they’re pretty much the only pants I wore for a good number of years.
As my tastes evolve, what I look for in a pair of jeans also changes. Bit by bit, my pants grew wider. The first step was a pair from Junya Watanabe’s 2013 collection that came slightly pre-worn. I was not as much a purist as I was before, so the slight rips on the pockets and hems were very much welcome. The fades and texture were perfect as well, and the only gripe I had was the pockets being a tad too small. Before long, though, the leg opening started to feel too narrow. What came after was a vintage pair from Levi’s LVC line. In many ways, these are nigh-perfect for me. The label on the back pocket has the “big E”, a callback to Levi’s older logo. It fits straight with lots of room, and the length drapes nicely over my shoes. Cuff them once or twice and the selvedge line is visible. Since it’s a true vintage, the fades are perfect as well, especially the train tracks on side seams, and there lies its issue. The pair being true vintage means that it has gone through so much wear in the first place, the fabric is now prone to ripping. I must have taken it to my tailor more than ten times to mend its rips and holes until at some point, I knew I had to let the pair go.
Neppy denim texture (via Blue Owl Workshop)
These days, the somewhat-perfect pair for me falls to or Slow’s 101 model, or what they call the “Dad’s Fit”. Compared to the Levi’s, the blue is darker. The chainstitch on the hem creates a really beautiful roping effect on the leg opening, and the length stacks really nicely. What I appreciate the most is the neppy texture, this snow-like “pattern” that comes from small yarn fibers that protrude slightly from the denim’s surface. This texture is only achieved through the process of low-tension weaving, which agitates the yarn to expose more fibers. Is the pair perfect in other ways? Sadly, no. The fabric is not selvedge and it doesn’t have a button fly like most of my previous pairs did (it’s something of an acceptable “downgrade” since I wear lots of hard-to-take-off belts these days). The inside of the pockets are also too small, but it was easily fixed through a trip to my tailor. Nevertheless, it brings me happiness every time I wear it, and it’s more than enough for me. At least now.
Images: Courtesy of Achim Hering, IMDB, Blue Owl Workshop, 101 Clothing Store
