Fashion Post 2: Jeans Skirt

(This is Fashion Backward.) (I'm only writing it because A wants to read it.) (Hmm, maybe I should try blogging by request.)

There are certain staple items in my wardrobe: in winter, boots, turtleneck sweaters, black skirts of all shapes and colors; in summer, a bikini, black slides, a jeans skirt.

Ah, you think, of course those are wardrobe staples, and being wardrobe staples, they are ubiquitous, so why on earth does she think she can get a blog post out of them?

Because, my friends, ubiquitous does not mean satisfactory, at least to me. Although there are many black skirts on the market, and I probably own most of them, that does not mean it is easy to find the perfect black skirt. Let alone the perfect black slides. And, oh my goodness, the perfect bikini? I think not. But with sufficient diligence, it is possible to find perfection, or at least good enough. And once I find it, I stick with it. Till it is very old. And dilapidated. And barely wearable. And eventually unwearable. And then I panic.

Two years ago, in London, I had to replace the bikini I'd had since 2002 (why would I have to replace a bikini in London? because we were going to Portugal). After much marching up and down Oxford Street and various High Streets, I struck gold...hmm, can't remember where, though I do remember that I found the suit on Oxford Street, but not the size, which I found in Oxford. So the bikini problem was solved for the next twelve years.

Last summer I replaced the black slides, though those usually last about two years, not twelve.

This summer I faced the biggest challenge of all: replacing the jeans skirt.

I had a jeans skirt from Old Navy. Maybe half a dozen years old. The waist hit at the perfect point below the belly button and above the hip bone. The denim was a lovely darkish blue that had faded nicely. The length was kneeish, which is how I like my jeans skirt these days. In short, it was perfection. But in London (a pattern here?) I tore it up the side while stepping over a bench in the video room at the Vivienne Westwood exhibit at the V&A (why on earth do I remember that?! because I am me). I sewed up the rip, but it still looked a bit ramshackle. Then it ripped some more. And finally the rip was hopelessly long and the skirt could no longer be excused as presentable, so I cut it off above the rip, as an experimental gesture toward a jeans mini skirt, but the experiment failed, so there I was, facing the fearful task: finding a new jeans skirt.

This year, the task has been particularly loathsome. Because I will not wear a jeans skirt that comes only to the top of my legs. And I will not wear a jeans skirt that looks like only a mom would wear it (no comments from the peanut gallery, please). And I will not wear a jeans skirt that doesn't fit perfectly. And I will not wear a jeans skirt with those damned frayed edges (see "comes only to the top of my legs"), because I am just too old for that shit, thank you very much.

However, this left me very little to choose from. In fact, nothing. Though I certainly looked.

Then we went to Target. We found tankinis for some girls (E: My first tankini! And my first halter!). We found a most excellent tank top for running. And we found a jeans skirt. It was a nice denim (I've finally accepted those whisker things, at least for skirts). It fit beautifully. The length was just right. And it had those damned frayed edges.

So I bought it, brought it home, and sewed up those edges, right along the creases where they had been unsewn in some Asian factory by some underpaid worker. Because that's the kind of Fashion Backward obsessive shopping-hating shopper I am.