Okay, so there are only three things I’d rather be doing than shopping for jeans. Those three things are all equally unpleasant. Getting my wisdom teeth pulled out, explaining TikTok to my Dad, and watching my little bro’s entire Fortnite montage from last year (which I had to watch) — that’s the extent of my preference list. There I was, Tuesday afternoon, standing in the John Lewis fitting room, which resembled a denim explosion zone, debating almost every decision I’ve ever made to end up in this moment.
My fave black jeans had finally kicked the bucket. I mean KICKED THE BUCKET. Like, they had ripped all the way down the inside of my thigh. You know that wind tunnel sensation when you get a breeze in a place that isn’t supposed to have air? Yeah. I had to dash into the nearest store and grab emergency safety pins while trying to keep my pants up with one hand. Utterly mortifying. Also kinda funny now.
So, I figured I needed to replace those jeans. Here’s the problem with being a content creator — you spend so much time thinking about what looks good on camera that you stop thinking about what feels good to wear. Plus I’m 5’4” with hips that refuse to play nicely with most sizes, and jean shopping has always been a particularly cruel form of torture that I only engage in when absolutely unavoidable.
However, I had an idea. I decided to try on EVERY PAIR OF WOMEN’S JEANS AT JOHN LEWIS. Yes, all of them. For science! The woman helping me in the fitting rooms gave me the LOOK when I arrived with the first load of jeans. “Are you having a sale in here?” she asked. And I replied, “More like a mental meltdown, but yeah.”
I began with the classics – Levi’s 501s. Every fashion person will tell you they’re the ultimate classic. And hey, they’re okay if you want to look like you just rolled out of a 1990s music video. However, actually LIVING IN THEM? WALKING AROUND? SITTING DOWN? BEING A NORMAL HUMAN BEING? That’s like wearing cardboard tubes on your legs. I wore them for approximately 30 seconds before I said nope. Next.
Next I tried on the Ribcage jeans that are all over my FYP. Do you want to discuss how seriously these jeans LIVE UP TO THEIR NAME?! They came up so high I thought they were going to puncture a lung. I mean they looked AMAZING – my waist looked teeny, my legs looked MILES LONG – but I also couldn’t breathe. When I attempted to sit down, I genuinely thought I might pass out. Sometimes I wonder if the designers of certain clothing items are just trolling us at this point.
At this point I’d lost my mind. I’d sent my friend Maya to come bring me coffee because I was having a denim-induced existential crisis. At this point, I’d tried on approximately 30 pairs of jeans and none of them were working. The mid-range jeans from Whistles made me look like I was cosplaying as someone’s cool aunt from 2003. The AND/OR ones had this odd gap in the back that could fit my entire phone.
The fitting room was heating up, the light was not flattering on me whatsoever (seriously, why do they make fitting room light so harsh?!), and I was beginning to think maybe I should just live in joggers forever. Maya showed up with my flat white and just shook her head at the complete mess. “Denim crime scene but make it fashion,” she said. Honestly, that wasn’t too far off.
When I hit the 30th pair or so, I had reached a sort of zen where I wasn’t even a person anymore, just a vehicle for testing denim. I was writing down actual notes on my phone like “waistband severely restricts blood flow but creates a gaping hole when standing — who are these jeans for?” and “the pockets are so small they’re essentially decorative — what’s the point?”
Then something kinda magical occurred. I picked up a pair of jeans from Albaray (brand I’d never paid much attention to, but I had a vague recollection of) and just threw them on without expectation. And when I looked in the mirror, I didn’t automatically begin dissecting everything wrong with them. They simply WORKED. The rise was high enough to hide everything, but low enough that I didn’t feel like I was being split in two. They slid over my legs as opposed to sticking to them in all the wrong ways. And when I sat down, MIRACLE OF MIRACLES, they followed me down, not opposing me.
“Oh my god,” I said to Maya, “I think these might actually be it.”
She took a second to look up from scrolling Instagram. “Your bum looks great, if that makes the decision easier.”
Oh man. That made it SO MUCH EASIER. I went ahead and performed the full fitting room test – walking around, sitting down, squatting (I know, I know, if you’re not squatting in potentially good jeans, you’re not doing it right), checking angles. They paired well with my clunky sneakers. They paired well with boots. They looked great cuffed. They looked great full-length. I was basically suspicious because jean shopping has never gone this smoothly.
The bonus? They were only $65 and made from recycled cotton. So I felt good about buying them, both ethically and financially. I waited for the other shoe to drop. Were they going to fall apart in the wash? Would they fade unevenly? Would they spontaneously combust?
At this point, I only had maybe six pairs left to try on for the sake of thoroughness, and honestly, nothing else compared. Then the fitting room girl – who had become fully invested in my journey – handed me another pair. “These just came in yesterday,” she said. “They’ve been flying off the shelves.”
I almost didn’t try on the Nobody’s Child jeans because by then I was fairly confident I’d found my winners. But I am glad I did. They were completely different from the Albaray ones. More of a relaxed straight leg with the PERFECT CROP LENGTH. This means I can wear them with literally anything in my closet. Same awesome high waist action. Same miracle no-gap-in-the-back situation. And they made my legs appear longer. Which, at my height, is always welcome.
“Plot twist,” Maya said, “you found TWO PERFECT PAIRS.”
And honestly, after three hours of denim hell, I felt entitled to both. Plus, when you find not one, but TWO PAIRS OF JEANS THAT ACTUALLY FIT YOUR BODY IN ONE SHOPPING TRIP — that’s basically winning the lottery. You don’t ask questions, you just buy them and leave.
As I exited John Lewis with my bags, Maya asked me if it was all worth it. Honestly, yes. Not because I found jeans that fit. Because the whole ridiculous experience reminded me that, regardless of what the fashion world of TikTok wants us to believe — THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A ONE-SIZE-FITS-ALL STYLE RULE.
Like, everyone is always telling us to wear rigid denim and vintage Levis. But what about the rest of us? Some of us need a little stretch to allow our bodies to move and function. What looks fabulous on a size 2 influencer may be a total disaster on the rest of us. And that is TOTALLY OKAY.
The jeans I ended up purchasing weren’t the coolest or trendiest jeans John Lewis had. They’re probably not what the fashionistas in Shoreditch are wearing. They’re probably not what’s featured in Vogue this month. BUT THEY WORK FOR MY REAL LIFE, MY REAL BODY, AND HOW I ACTUALLY LIVE INSTEAD OF JUST HOW I LOOK IN CAREFULLY POSED INSTAGRAM PICTURES.
That’s what I’m trying to remember more. PERSONAL STYLE SHOULD FUNCTION WITH YOUR LIFE. IT SHOULDN’T OPPOSE YOU. We shouldn’t be forcing ourselves into the latest shape that’s popular this season just because some algorithm told us to.
