Okay so like, there are maybe three things I’d rather do than shop for jeans and they’re all equally terrible – getting my wisdom teeth out, explaining TikTok to my dad, or sitting through my little brother’s entire Fortnite montage that he made me watch last Christmas. But there I was last Tuesday, standing in a John Lewis fitting room that looked like a denim bomb had gone off, questioning literally every life choice that got me to this point.
My favorite black jeans had finally died on me – and I mean DIED. Like, dramatically ripped right down the inner thigh while I was rushing to catch the bus after work. You know that feeling when you suddenly get a breeze where no breeze should ever be? Yeah. Had to duck into the nearest store and buy emergency safety pins while trying to hold my pants together with one hand. Absolutely mortifying, but also kind of hilarious in hindsight.
So I knew I needed new jeans, but here’s the thing nobody tells you about being a content creator – you spend so much time thinking about what looks good on camera that you forget what actually feels good to wear. Plus I’m 5’4″ with hips that do NOT cooperate with most sizing, and jean shopping has always been this special kind of torture that I avoid until absolutely necessary.
But I had this idea, right? What if I just tried on literally every pair of women’s jeans that John Lewis had? Like, all of them. Scientific method and all that. The woman working the fitting rooms gave me the LOOK when I walked up with my first armload. “You having a clearance sale in there, love?” she asked, and I was like, “More like a mental breakdown, but sure.”
I started with the obvious choice – Levi’s 501s, because every fashion person will tell you they’re the ultimate classic. And look, they’re fine if you want to look like you stepped out of a 90s music video, but actually living in them? Walking, sitting, existing like a normal human? It’s like wearing cardboard tubes on your legs. I kept them on for maybe thirty seconds before I was like nope, next.
Then I tried the Ribcage jeans that are all over my FYP. Can we talk about how these things literally live up to their name? They came up so high I thought they were gonna puncture a lung. I mean they looked incredible – my waist looked tiny, my legs looked miles long – but I also couldn’t breathe. When I tried to sit down I genuinely thought I might pass out. Sometimes I think fashion brands are just trolling us at this point.
Three hours in and I was losing my mind. I’d texted my friend Maya to bring me coffee because I was having what can only be described as a denim-induced existential crisis. By this point I’d tried on like thirty pairs and nothing was working. The mid-range stuff from Whistles made me look like I was cosplaying as someone’s cool aunt from 2003. The AND/OR ones had this weird gap in the back that could fit my entire phone.
The fitting room was getting hot, the lighting was doing me zero favors (seriously, why do they make fitting room lights so aggressive?), and I was starting to think maybe I should just live in joggers forever. Maya showed up with my flat white and just shook her head at the chaos. “This looks like a crime scene but make it fashion,” she said, which honestly wasn’t wrong.
By pair thirty-something I’d entered this weird zen state where I wasn’t even a person anymore, just a vessel for testing denim. I was taking actual notes on my phone like “waistband cuts circulation but gapes when standing – who is this designed for?” and “pockets so small they’re basically decorative – what’s the point?”
Then something kind of magical happened. I grabbed this pair from Albaray – brand I’d heard of but never really paid attention to – and just put them on without expecting anything. But when I looked in the mirror, I didn’t immediately start picking apart everything wrong with them. They just… worked? The rise was high enough to smooth everything out but not so high that I felt like I was being cut in half. They skimmed my legs instead of clinging weird. When I sat down, miracle of miracles, they moved with me instead of fighting me.
“Oh my god,” I said to Maya, “I think these might actually be it.”
She looked up from scrolling Instagram and studied me. “Your butt looks amazing, if that helps the decision.”
It absolutely helped. I did the full fitting room test – walking around, sitting, squatting (don’t judge me, if you’re not squatting in potential jeans you’re doing it wrong), checking every angle. They worked with my chunky sneakers, they worked with boots, they looked good cuffed, they looked good full length. I was genuinely suspicious because jean shopping is never supposed to go this smoothly.
The best part? They were only £65 and made from recycled cotton, so I could feel good about buying them both ethically and financially. I kept waiting for the catch – were they going to fall apart in the wash? Fade weird? Spontaneously combust?
I had maybe six pairs left to try for the sake of thoroughness, and honestly nothing else came close. Then the fitting room lady – who by now was fully invested in my journey – handed me one more pair. “These just came in yesterday,” she said, “they’ve been selling like crazy.”
Nobody’s Child jeans. I almost didn’t try them because at this point I was pretty sure I’d found my winners, but I’m glad I did. They were different from the Albaray ones – more of a relaxed straight leg with this perfectly cropped length that would work with literally everything in my closet. Same amazing high waist situation, same no-gap-in-the-back miracle, and they made my legs look longer which at my height is always appreciated.
“Plot twist,” Maya said, “you found two perfect pairs.”
I bought both because honestly, after three hours of denim hell, I deserved it. Plus when you find not one but two pairs of jeans that actually fit your body in a single shopping trip, that’s basically winning the lottery. You don’t question it, you just buy them and run.
Walking out of John Lewis with my bags, Maya asked if it was worth the whole ordeal. The honest answer is yes, but not just because I found jeans that fit. The whole ridiculous experience reminded me that despite what fashion TikTok wants us to believe, there’s no such thing as one-size-fits-all style rules.
Like, everyone’s always pushing rigid denim and vintage Levi’s, but some of us need stretch to accommodate bodies that actually move and do things. Everyone’s wearing the latest trending jean style, but what works on a size 2 influencer might be a disaster on the rest of us. And that’s totally fine.
The jeans I ended up buying aren’t the coolest or most on-trend ones John Lewis had. They’re probably not what the fashion girls in Shoreditch are wearing or what’s getting featured in Vogue this month. But they work for my actual life, my actual body, and the way I actually live instead of just how I look in carefully posed Instagram photos.
That’s what I’m trying to remember more – personal style should work WITH your life, not against it. We shouldn’t be torturing ourselves into whatever silhouette is trendy this season just because some algorithm told us to.
So if you see someone looking unreasonably smug in either Albaray straight legs or Nobody’s Child relaxed jeans around Austin, that’s probably me still celebrating finding the holy grail twice in one day. And if you’re thinking about doing your own denim quest, just remember – bring snacks, bring a friend with good taste, and if something doesn’t fit right, it’s the jeans that are wrong, not you.
Also major props to John Lewis fitting room staff because they basically provide therapy services at this point, watching all of us go through the five stages of jean-shopping grief on the daily. They deserve hazard pay honestly.
Brooklyn’s a 24-year-old content creator from Austin who lives where fashion meets TikTok. She covers Gen Z trends, viral styles, and the messy reality of making fashion content for a living. Expect energy, honesty, and unapologetic fun.
