Blue Genes

August 18, 2025

Greetings from the clothes dummy,

Recently I bought some blue jeans. I will pause here so that you can alert your local media. 

I suspect this matters because there has recently been a flurry of interest in people’s genetic jean disposition, spotlighted by Sydney Sweeney with whom I have something in common: we have never heard of each other. That said, in order to understand my own denim heredity, allow me to provide a little background.

In my youngest years, my mom bought jeans for me.  This was a much simpler decision, which followed this line of questioning: 1. Are these the cheapest jeans at the Yankee store?  2. Are these jeans several sizes too large so that the person wearing them can grow into them over the next five years?  3. Are these jeans so stiff that they stand up on their own and when worn will exfoliate the legs of the wearer?

It was not actually necessary, in those times, to try the jeans on.  My mom would hold them up in front of me, then using a method that combined squinting and pursing her lips, she would choose the correct size. The legs would be too long so they would be ‘cuffed’, rolled up at the ankles, and they would fray there from my slovenly slouch and the jeans’ propensity to droop. So as they were rolled back down you could see the growth pattern as if I were a hewn maple tree.

These jeans would be worn until my legs grew to the point that the cuffs reached my mid-calf.  Then she sewed on fabric extensions to make them ‘groovy’, so I would be admired by all the other kids.  At some point the knees would wear out and they would be repaired with groovy iron-on patches.  When the legs finally disintegrated the jeans became shorts, which were deliberately frayed along the legs so I looked as if I’d been attacked by a wild animal that devoured the rest of my pants.  Which was also groovy, a word that hadn’t been used by my generation except on ‘Dragnet’ episodes.

There came a time when I had control of my own finances and was able to make my own jean purchasing decisions.  This led to some terrible choices, including high waisted, hip huggers, bell bottoms, baggies, button fly, and pleated.  Somehow I just missed tie-died and embroidered, but not by much.

In the decades between then and now, somehow I have completely lost the ability to buy jeans.  This was my Dad-Jean era, when all my denim was given to me for Father’s Day and seemed to come pre-splattered with paint or baby vomit.  Every time the jeans were washed the pockets were filled with receipts from Ace Hardware or Toys R Us.  Never any money.

If I ever knew what size or brand these jeans were, that information faded like….something that fades, can’t think of a suitable metaphor. Obviously, there has been a disruption in my jean DNA.  Anyway, now armed with these denim chromosomes, that brings us to the moment when I set out to buy some blue jeans. 

I am a simple person with simple tastes, which puts me at a disadvantage when buying blue jeans.  I didn’t want acid washed or pre-torn or stretchy or skin tight or relaxed or quilted or whatever boyfriend jeans are.  Just blue jeans.

With uncharacteristically emphatic resolve, I decided to buy Wrangler jeans. Then Lee.  I hovered over a few brands I’d never heard of and then, because they were closest to the dressing room, I chose Levis.  This was a near-fatal mistake.

There are over a dozen styles of Levi jeans.  Each has its own idiosyncrasies which are described in romantic language meant to distinguish the collection but offer no help to actual people who might want to wear them. For example: “We made the Levi's® 511™ jeans into a modern fit to sit below the waist so your belly will hang over the waistband, making it impossible to make use of our unique five pocket design. These slim fit jeans are so tight from the hip to ankle that you will not be able to pull them on and yet the waist size will be so loose they will fall over your butt when you bend over.”

Each Levi collection also has its own sizing peculiarities that seem to have nothing to do with waist size or inseam.  I tried on at least a dozen pairs of jeans that were the same size, none of which fit and never for the same reason.  I tried recalibrating after each trip to the dressing room, adjusting one size up or down which overshot my target in both ways.  It was like trying to fix a wobbly table by wedging napkins under the feet, which only makes the table wobble in a new way.

It has been a while since I’ve been in front of the funhouse mirrors they put in dressing rooms. These new mirrors make it appear as though my body has been replaced with that of a much older and saggier person.  What’s more, the lighting in the dressing rooms seems to have been designed by morticians who use them to practice putting makeup on people who appear to be deceased.  This little delight only served to exacerbate my disgust with every pair of jeans I tried on.

I am proud, even in my humiliation, to say that I finally bought a pair of blue jeans.  I think this speaks highly of my own resolve and determination combined with my willingness to give up out of sheer desperation.  I will acknowledge that this blue jean purchase would not have been possible without the heritage passed on by my parents, and all the generations of my ancestors, none of whom, I am sure, ever owned blue jeans that fit correctly.  I can feel their genetic power flowing through me, helping me to make choices in denimwear that will undoubtedly make me look groovy.

Hope this finds you feeling blue,

David

Copyright © 2025 David Smith