If you know me, you know my acid washed jeans. I’m wearing them as I write this. I tried them on for the first time on my 25th birthday and I’ve barely taken them off since. Orange tab vintage Levi’s, high-waisted and cut off at just the right place. They changed my life.

I hate jeans almost as much as I hate shopping second-hand. Prior to The Jeans, I exclusively wore black denim if real pants were required, typically in the slimmest cut I could find. Always ankle length, never to the foot. I’m a conundrum as I wear leggings as pants in any situation I can, yet feel blue jeans to be a total “I’m giving up” move in the world of style. On the thrift front, I have little to no interest shuffling through racks of old printed blouses and dresses or faded t-shirts. Then I found The Jeans at Passport Vintage in Austin, Texas.

My dislike of jean shopping started with my height and body insecurity mixed with their inherent ability to go with “anything.” Denim never did anything for me despite its versatility—I’ve been blessed with a body that many think can wear "anything,” but I never felt that to be true. I didn’t think they added anything to my overall look or my body, especially as my taste in shoes has always been a bit off the wall. I would wear dark skinny jeans to my jobs as a teenager which I’d pair with plain black flats or flip flops as something easy and void of personality, mainly to hide. I hated skinny jeans tucked into boots, it always looked wrong with my scrawny legs. I bought my first pair of designer denim when I was modeling, a pair from J Brand that were as skinny as I could find and high-waisted too. This was the first time I realized denim could feel like a second skin, and it felt good.

In college I experimented with non-traditional denim that started to actually fit my body type. I bought my first pair of bell bottoms from Free People, and then my second (a pair with legs so wide they could pass as a denim floor-length skirt). I’m thankful my teeny hippie school encouraged style risks (if individuals chose to wore clothing at all) and its overall mindset consistently helped me to bloom. These first jeans opened the door for the idea of a statement pant. Why did I believe that denim had to be basic and a way for me to standardize/fit in when I was already going to stand out?

The Experience

It took me until about 24 years old to realize I had to try things on before purchasing. Call it “spark joy,” but as I started learning about minimalism and the importance of meaningful pieces, I learned I needed to physically feel and experience clothing before I could buy them. They had to feel good in multiple senses of the word. I went into Passport Vintage on my 25th birthday with a group of friends and tried on about five pairs on “mom jeans”, grabbing a more obscure acid washed print unexpectedly.

A note on Mom Jeans: a high-waisted pair of thick denim makes for an insanely effortless flattering pair for lots of body types. I wanted to try the style for how I envied the jeans on other girls, even those with varying body types. Mom Jeans are not trying to be anything they aren’t. For me, they are almost synonymous with body positivity and comfort.

I put them on and it was a “sisterhood of the traveling pants” situation, except I was the only person involved (though not really, because they were likely worn by 1-2 other women before me). They landed on my hips perfectly, and hugged my butt in the way I was waiting for. They hit my ankles where both ankle boots and heels could pair easily. They were worn in and soft, and I wasn’t constricted at all. I danced around the store showing them off to my friends who encouraged me to buy them for about $78.

The Jeans during the first night I had them, paired with a black top and black heels with added fur on the toe strap

I learned my denim was Levi’s Orange Tab from between the 1970s and 1990s. Whoever had them before me likely cut off the bottoms which have a natural fray (also on the waistline). I don’t know what about that time period and my body work so well, but I’ve looked for similar fits every time I return to Passport. I’ve worn a hole in the butt twice, and only on the second time had them professionally stitched up. While the patching is visible, it only adds to the character of the pants (like they needed much more!). My denim has a musty smell that I wonder how many other people can sense.

I can barely go anywhere without someone commenting on The Jeans. Not how they look on me, but The Jeans themselves. I’ve worn them on every birthday since. I’ve worn them while seeing my favorite bands, meeting new friends, camping, traveling across the country, holding babies for the first time.

The Jeans are an extension of my personality— maybe a little dated, a little worn. Likely not what you were expecting, and definitely rare. Comfortable but with a harder side at the same time. Overall consistent and reliable, even with a few holes.

The Jeans at The National’s Homecoming Festival in Cincinnati

Most importantly, The Jeans opened my eyes to what could be. Never have I bought another pair of pants that haven’t made me ooze with confidence in my style choices and my body. Never have a thought I need something basic or conventional that leads to frustration. The Jeans taught me what could be. And lord knows what will happen the day I have to say goodbye. I might have to fold them and put them in a trophy box as these jeans are truly winners.

The Jeans with someone pretty important. He likes them, not that it’d make a difference if he didn’t

That Old Pair of Jeans

The Experience

The Jeans are an extension of my personality— maybe a little dated, a little worn. Likely not what you were expecting, and definitely rare. Comfortable but with a harder side at the same time. Overall consistent and reliable, even with a few holes.