Figurines in Designer Jeans

If you didn't have an opportunity to wear 1980s designer jeans, I am sorry. 

Truly, I am. 

I am of the opinion that you missed out on what I consider to be the most divine fashion trend of my 50 year old life.  

Initially, designer jeans weren't even purchasable in our small northern town; we had to drive 30 minutes south to a more moneyed area to buy them. When my parents took me to get my first pair (happy eleventh birthday to me!) I sat in the "way back" of our station wagon bursting with anticipation. It was like we were off to see the wizard...the wonderful wizard of wanton wear!

I am in love with the memory of everything about designer jeans; how they fit, what we wore them with, how they enveloped our adolescent thighs and rear ends, and how grown up we felt in them, especially after a childhood of Toughskin hand me downs and Garanimals monkey-tagged cotton tshirts. 

I don't know what I miss more, designer jeans or the body I had when I wore designer jeans. We girls were stick figures back in the 80s. There was no idle time, we never ate, we ran, jumped and biked; we were athletes without really trying and thus we were flat as boards and light as feathers (which came in mighty handy at seances, for sure.) 

When you bought a pair of designer jeans, or more accurately, when your poor parents bought you a pair of overpriced designer jeans, you turned them inside out in the wash so that the color lasted longer and if you had a mom like mine, the jeans were first treated in a vinegar soak so that the dark blue dye didn't stain your hands, undergarments, or your favorite white ski bum turtleneck, worn tucked in. 

Mine were so stinking tight that I couldn't fit anything in the back pocket, save a cool comb. I lost many a Lip-smacker because when I sat down they would pop right out. 

Here is a brand by brand comparison, best as I can recall: 

Jordache was the hands-down winner for most interesting pocket designs, mostly stallion-related, and they seemed to fit tall girls best. I rolled the rough hems of my Jordache four times, minimum, to get them to an acceptable length. The girls I knew who gravitated exclusively to Jordache are the minivan drivers of today, carting around three kiddos and juggling caramel lattes from place to place. They are also the ladies who, when finally alone, throw off the monogrammed trucker hat, unleash the ponytail, crank the 80s on 8 in that minivan and holla the words to "Pour Some Sugar on Me" all while totally trying to remember the name of that Myrtle Beach bar with the belly shots. 

Bonjour were excellent for girls with no ass. On me, they looked a little like apple bottom jeans and, for that reason, weren't my favorite. I used to peel them down to my knees and stutter strut kick down the hall in disgust, desperately trying to fling them off my legs. Not my finest 12 year old moment, I can assure you. The girls I knew who gravitated exclusively to Bonjour jeans are graphic artists today, living single inside trendy big city lofts. They are creative types, primarily decorating in hues of seagull grey, steely grey, pewter grey and charcoal grey. They drink alkaline water and eschew any popular television, preferring to dial up Netflix shows about becoming murderers. 

Manisha jeans were for those who loved posh colored denim. They came in hues of goldenrod, mulberry, moon rock green, eggplant...and those crazy cool florals. The girls I knew who gravitated exclusively to Manisha jeans are still among the most well-dressed. They are also the ones who invest in the most beautiful gel nails, who deny getting facial fillers and who wear heels even when flats would prove equally fashionable. They know the good cabernets and have season tickets to the symphony which they mostly donate to charitable causes and basket raffles. 

Sergio Valente, which I wore until I filled out, were stiff as a board, extra durable and perfect for sliding into home and avoiding ass rash when we had neighborhood pickup softball games. Where Jordache has a stallion, Sergio has the bull. So freaking BOSS! The girls I knew who gravitated exclusively to Sergios went to college in Long Island, married gorgeous mulleted Guidos, and although they are divorced now, have remained friends "for the good of the kids". They also enjoy cruises, margaritas, Diamonique, and the movie Magic Mike.

Sasson jeans were worn by girls whose mothers cut their hair into horrid figure skating styles and then thought the “ok hand tag” jeans would be a nifty complimentary idea...which they were not. I did not know any girls who gravitated exclusively to Sasson, but I knew girls whose mothers bought them Ooh La La Sasson! jeans without their consent or any real excitement. Today, they are probably depressed because they never learned to ask for what they truly wanted. 

Gitano were eventually sold up our way in discount stores, so although they didn't fit as well (and by 'well,' I mean you could hike your Gitanos up without lying on your bed, coat hanger looped through your zipper, squishing all your internal organs to a pulp) as the more painted on brands, they were a good alternative for when the real deal was in the wash...or in the vinegar. The girls I knew who gravitated exclusively to Gitanos are now financial planners, who realized way back when that paying $25 dollars for a pair of jeans as opposed to $75 dollars for a pair of jeans was a sound investment leaving more money for school trips to Spain and used VW Cabriolets in the 11th grade. 

Chic were mom jeans or at the least, they were the ones your mom stole from your closet when she was feeling sassy on a Saturday night and dancing was on the parental menu. The girls I knew who gravitated exclusively to Chic jeans waited until they were in their 30s to get hitched, and then married older successful men who raised their families and didn't want any more kids. They go to hot yoga, eat vegan, and use grounding techniques for focus and recovery. They also still fit in those damn Chic jeans from high school and occasionally pull them out for Journey concerts and 80s parties. 

Gloria Vanderbilt were unusual because like Manisha, they had a variety of colors; however, it was the thread color/stitching that varied from pair to pair. Original gold thread, and eventually red, white and pale blue are the colors I recall for long legged and super svelte swan loving girls. I had a pair of GV later in the 90s but they grabbed my lady parts like a sauced congressman at a Georgetown bar, so I wore them once and hurriedly gave them away. The girls I knew who gravitated exclusively to Glorias moved south, married heirs to homebuilding businesses, and only take photographs where they are standing behind people or chairs because although they look perfectly fine, they miss the days where they had no hips.

Calvin Kleins were my eventual go-to hands down favorite. Between the sexy Brooke Shields ad and the idea that even the swells could wear these without feeling slutty, I ended up loving these right up until college when ripped skanky acid wash became "the look that's right from top to bottom". ** The girls I knew who gravitated exclusively to Calvins, interestingly, were also a bunch of shoplifting theives. CK were expensive as hell, didn't wear well (which necessitated a closet full, one pair for every day of the week), and were typically sold at high end boutique type stores where parents bought their own clothes, but certainly not ours. One clever klepto I knew used to take orders for them and then layer pair after pair one over the other and walk out of the mall store with britches by the 5 fold on her little 100 pound body. Nothing came between her and her Calvins except those damn exploding ink tags which actually became popular not long after. 

**Lyrics from Gitano ad. 

This is my first attempt at formatting text in the blog so I apologize for the overall wonkiness of it. I am learning as I go, here, and plan to improve as time goes on. Thanks for your patience and understanding!

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