There’s a saying that fashion comes and goes, but style is forever. Depending on how extensively you want to research who said this (for me, the answer is “not that much”), the quote can either be attributed to a 1920s anonymous beauty expert, Coco Chanel, or Yves St. Laurent. Honestly, it doesn’t really matter to me. As a child (and kind of, sort of as an adult?), I was neither fashionable nor stylish. Though when I was younger, I did try.
I’m thankful that in the blissful ignorance of my youth, I thought I looked pretty good every time I walked out the door. Looking back, I can objectively tell you that I was an awkward child who had, shall we say, many fashion flops? I wasn’t awkward in a “you-stick-out-like-a-sore-thumb” kind of way, I was just…ugh. That’s how I can best characterize it. Sure, there was a brief period before I turned eleven when one could claim that my bowl cut was an “efficient hairstyle” that only required an occasional brushing. And yes, perhaps my oversized glasses were “cute” in a Hubble telescope sort of way. But after that, I most certainly was conscious of my fashion choices. And on many occasions, I had missed the mark.
This brings me to the life lesson I learned about fashion: it’s fine to be aspirational about your style, but life is much easier when you accept who you are and what makes you feel your best. Just make sure that whatever you wear fits you well to avoid the dreaded fashion flop.
Which brings me to my story…
Make yourself comfortable
I know I’ve already written about my trials and tribulations of discount shopping, so please know that this blog has a different twist.
When I was little, comfort was key. Frankly, it still is. If you could see me now, you would know that I’m wearing a cozy, soft hooded sweater and furry slippers. It’s an outfit that screams “comfy.” Though I’m not sure why anyone would want to scream that.
Anyway, there was a brief time in my early teen years when I didn’t choose comfort. That was the time I wanted to look trendy. To me, trendy meant wearing designer jeans. For this desired look, I coveted Jordache jeans.
Before I delve into things, first, let me give you a little background.
For anyone who grew up in the 1980s, you would probably agree that Jordache jeans were amongst the nicest jeans a teenager could buy.
Now, if you weren’t blessed with a childhood that was surrounded by a sea of neon colors, scrunchies, and acid washed everything, you probably haven’t heard of Jordache jeans. Allow me to explain my views on why these jeans were so popular.
First, the name sounds remotely French, as it is pronounced “JOOR-dash.” Très fancy, right? Second, the jeans were quite-form fitting. As in, skintight. On those tight jeans was a prominently placed label that had an iconic horse—maybe a stallion?—logo. Add those tight, horse-label pants that had a French-sounding name and pair it with a recognizable jingle (“You’ve Got the Look I Want to Know Better, The Jordache Look”), then slap on a twenty-six dollar price tag—a princely sum at the time—and voila, you’ve made yourself a coveted pair of designer jeans.
While I didn’t wear designer jeans—or even tight jeans—at the time, I still wanted a pair of Jordache jeans. So did my older sister. When we both requested a pair of Jordache jeans for the holidays, my mother said in a firm, clear tone, “absolutely not.”
I’m sure my mother—who was once a high school English teacher and had seen the dangers of promiscuity firsthand—had already decided that skinny jeans weren’t for her teen daughters.
In her mind, skinny jeans led to trouble. Little did she know that other types of jeans could also lead to disaster. Read on!
Smarty pants
As a perceptive child, I could often tell where there was room for negotiation with my parents. If I sensed there was any possibility of getting what I wanted, however remote, I could be patient. Like an animal hunting for its prey, I would simply lay in wait until the optimal time arose.
I considered whether I should ask for Jordache jeans another time, such as for my birthday in August. The more I reflected on my mother’s adamant response, the more I knew those expensive, skintight Jordache jeans would never be mine.
One quick aside: in a stunning twist of cleverness by my parents, my sister got a purple, crescent-shaped Jordache purse for her holiday gift that year. This “designer” handbag was no fashion flop. But unlike the jeans my sister and I had wanted, it also wasn’t skintight nor twenty-six dollars.
As for me, I was left still wanting for a pair of designer jeans, Jordache brand or not.
Enter Guess jeans.
A kick in the pants
Guess jeans were a competitor to Jordache jeans. Sort of like the Coke vs. Pepsi soda wars of the times. Identified by its iconic “question mark” logo on the right back pocket, Guess jeans were also expensive. Unlike the skintight Jordache jeans, however, Guess jeans came in a wider variety of styles including wide leg, relaxed, flared, straight, and of course, skinny. While I knew my mother wouldn’t budge on buying my sister and I skinny jeans, perhaps she could get behind a relaxed fit?
Still, the price of Guess jeans was a bit beyond our budget.
Patiently, I prayed that a pair of Guess jeans would go on sale at one of the fancier department stores in the mall. They never did.
But then, one day, as we perused the aisles of Marshall’s, I came across a pair of bubble gum pink—definitely not skintight—Guess jeans. On clearance no less! It was like the fashion g-ds were finally smiling down on me. I pinched myself to see if I was dreaming. I wasn’t! I then checked to see if the jeans were my size. Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh. My heart was pounding with excitement. Although pink was my absolute least favorite color of all time, these Guess jeans were, in fact, my size. Beggars can’t be choosers as they say. So, rather than try the jeans on, I snatched the pink pants and rushed over to my sister to show her my find.
She ooh’ed and ahh’ed appropriately. Surely, my mother couldn’t say no to this Marshall’s miracle.
To my great delight, after looking at the price tag and confirming that the jeans were not of the skinny jean variety, my mom agreed to buy this pink denim treasure. When we got home, I raced up the stairs to try on my new Guess jeans.
And oh, what a disappointment it was.
Not-so-fancy pants
As was sometimes the case, Marshall’s sold what’s called “factory seconds.” As in, the clothing is the correct brand, but there’s something slightly off. Due to such imperfections, the designer apparel couldn’t be sold in regular stores. But Marshall’s didn’t care. “Brand names for less” is its motto, no caveats on quality needed.
In the case of my once seemingly perfect pink Guess jeans, it was the fit of the legs that was wrong. The top half of the pants appeared normal, but below the knee, the pants became tighter. They looked sort of like jodhpurs, the riding pants that equestrians wear. In other words, these jeans were not wide leg, relaxed, flared, straight, or skinny. They were some Frankenstein combination of pink denim. This was one the biggest fashion flops in my life.
Had I tried the jeans on in the store, I would’ve understood why they were such a great price on clearance.
Still, I really wanted Guess jeans. I didn’t want to return them. And it was then that my sister—who could sometimes be as vicious as a snake—showed a glimpse of the amazing person she eventually turned out to be.
“I can use my sewing machine to fix your pants.” This was an act of generosity that I don’t think she had ever bestowed upon me after hitting puberty. Perhaps my sister could turn my fashion flop into a fashion feat.
You reap what you sew
It was a shame that her sewing skills didn’t match her enthusiasm. Let’s just say that the first time she tapered my pink Guess jeans, I couldn’t fit my legs into them. In a way, I guess you could say that I got my first pair of skinny jeans. But still, I gave my sister credit. She was trying to help me.
My sister went back to the drawing board and tried to restitch the pants a little less severely the second time around. While some of the upper bagginess was gone, the pants were still “off.” I had a sinking suspicion these clearance pink Guess jeans weren’t going to get any better. My sister, though she had many talents, was not a tailor.
Now, if you’re thinking “why didn’t you just take the jeans to a proper tailor?” Well, the cost of the alterations probably would’ve added up to more than if we’d just bought the Guess jeans at a regular store in the first place.
So guess what? (Pun intended.) I wore those misshapen pink Guess jeans anyway. Fashion flop be damned. But I’ll admit that whenever I wore them, I didn’t have the swagger that I thought I would. Instead, I worried someone would notice my pink misshapen pantlegs and ask what the heck was wrong with my jeans.
But it just goes to show you, when you wear clothing well, labels become less important. Your clothes don’t have be the fanciest or most expensive, as long as they’re “you.” Turns out, those pink Guess jeans were not me.
So yes, I donated those ugly clearance Guess jeans to the Goodwill exactly one year later. Let’s not ever talk about this again, shall we?
Have you had any childhood experiences that taught you an important life lesson like mine? Please share your stories with me in the comments section.
