Originally Posted by
Synthese 
I was feeling a bit nostalgic today, and took some photos of what remains of my collection of raw jeans - something that I've never done before. . Like a lot of forum members, I stumbled on SF while reading about raw denim - and, like a lot of forum members, my interests have changed a lot. It's fun to look back and try to remember what I was thinking about four years ago, when I was at the peak of my obsession with denim. I've since been through all kinds of stuff, but my first pair of APC jeans were new standards, which I think I had read about in Esquire or something.
Warning: Spoiler! (Click to show)
I bought this pair of petit standards in April, 2009, at their store in the Marais. I'd been wearing the same pair of jeans (also APC) for the previous two years, and raw denim was still exciting enough that I wanted more. New standards weren't skinny enough, I was listening to indie music and drinking cheap beer with Parisian hipsters, and petit standards fit the slouchy grunge look I was into. Since then, they've been all over the world with me. Ten countries are listed on the inside of the pocket bag, and they've been used and abused so consistently that the only thing holding them together anymore is darning thread. I wear a lot of high-brow clothing now; everything from Patrik Ervell to Rick Owens and Damir Doma, but I still smile when I put these on - even if they've shrunk so much and had so much patching that the crotch barely fits anymore.
The first time the back pocket ripped open was when I slid down a concrete banister in the metro. My friends and I had gone out the wrong exit, and instead of going through the station and finding our way back to the platform, we slid down the middle of the escalator we'd just come up. It earned me several strange looks, and a hole in my pocket. Over the last three years, they've been soaked through in rainstorms, had the crotch ripped open numerous times, they've fallen in the mud, been repaired, ripped, and repaired again, spilled on, and puked on by me and others. They've been washed countless times, and they were even bleached at some point in early 2010. They're basically retired, now, having been replaced by a pair of jeans that stays on my ass - these ones don't even stay up anymore.
Warning: Spoiler! (Click to show)
These were also purchased in Paris at some point in 2009; from a small consignment store in the Marais that's fairly close to the birthplace of my petit standards. They're by Helmut Lang "Elastic Classic Slim Cut Denim," and I have no idea what year they're from. They started out as a uniform black with a white weft, and they've now faded to an interesting dusky black/grey. The weave is really loose, and they're great summer jeans, despite the color. The pockets are an interesting detail, but are actually really annoying to use, and I always wonder if I could have a tailor change them into normal pockets somehow. When I bought these, I had been searching for a pair of black jeans forever, and hadn't found anything for months. I randomly wandered into this store and tried these on. They were perfect, and I walked away a happy man after paying 40 euros for them. For the longest time I had no shoes to wear them with except for a pair of grey high tops that are hidden in a box somewhere and a pair of brown desert boots that looked terrible with them, and have since been ruined and thrown out. I haven't kept track of them like I did with my APC's, but they've seen almost as much travel, if not quite as much wear. I go through phases with them; half the time I think they look horrible, and the other half of the time they're my favorite pants. The reality is, I assume, somewhere in the middle.
Warning: Spoiler! (Click to show)
My girlfriend got me these for my birthday last year after she got sick of hearing me lament the condition of my ragged old pair. They're petit standards as well, and after not having purchased raw denim since 2009, it was pretty strange to put them on for the first time. I didn't really like it; couldn't remember why the discomfort had been so much fun three years before, wasn't really looking forward to breaking in a new pair of jeans. I don't have the patience or the interest to wear them every day, and my wardrobe is really different from the uniform of white t-shirt, jeans, and desert boots I was wearing in college. Even though they're only seven months old, and haven't been worn nearly as much as my last pair, they've gotten more enjoyable to wear. They'e already been showered in a few times and had a trip through the washing machine, and I like the way they fit much better now than I did when they were new. They're finally starting to stack well, and feel more like jeans than a chore. I made the mistake of trying to sandpaper them, which I hadn't done on any of my other jeans, and don't particularly like the results - only because I now have more creases than I ought, and some of them aren't really in the right place. I've never cared much about the "authenticity" of the jeans, but they definitely don't look as natural as I hoped they would. Hopefully as they fade the creases will blend in a little more. They're fun to wear, though; they look good, fit well, and they still make me feel like a cool dude, just like my first pair did when I bought them in Paris three years ago.
Warning: Spoiler! (Click to show)
I don't know when I got into the habit of drawing on my pants, but it's something I do now. It's fun, for some reason, and I think it looks cool too. Makes them even more my own.
The rest of my raw jeans have disappeared over the years. I went through new standards, petit standards, NDG's, PRPS jeans, UNIQLO's, 7FAMs, and who knows what else. Now I wear boring old levi's to work half the time, and probably won't buy a new pair of raw jeans for another three years. It's a little sad to look back on who you used to be, what you used to think you'd become, and where you are now. Bittersweet, maybe, to realize that you've had to grow up, even if it's against your will, and in ways you weren't expecting. And funny to think how a pair of jeans can be a window into the past, and into your head.
