Slate Dropped The Ball. (In My Pants)

Oh, slate. Oh you wacky bunch of folks!

You fucked up, buckaroos. Your jeans piece missed the mark, bigtime. You can't talk about jeans without talking like class. You can't, really, talk about clothes without talking about class; but especially not jeans.

Designers did not just declare jeans socially correct, and thus they were, into infinity. That's an oversimplification, Designers recognized a trend and exploited it; and it was this trend that has continued to this day. Jeans are no longer the pants of the american worker. They haven't been for half a century. Jeans are the pants of leisure; owning a pair of investment jeans clearly declares membership in the leisure class.

I own three pairs of jeans I wear now. One I bought in my senior year of high school; perfectly broken in, one my mother bought for me last spring, having gotten sick of seeing my underpants through the seat of the first jeans, and one I just bought at the gap outlet, which are a rant unto themselves.

I wear my jeans approximately never. I have one day, maximum two days a week that I'm eligible to wear jeans. I can't wear them to work. We're not allowed. Jeans would be extraordinarily practical in my job- they're thick enough to take a scalding spill without transferring the burn to your thighs. They don't rip or tear during physical work, hold their shape despite frequent washings. Dark jeans barely show a stain. But we have to wear khaki pants. The dress code even specifically states that khaki colorder jeans are not appropriate.

Why can't I wear my jeans? My easily obtained, comfortable, practical jeans?

Class dissonance. I'm a member of the serving class while at work. I can't wear recreational pants, middle class pants. Pants that, when I took off my apron, would make me blend into the pack of suburban moms, college kids, and casual day lawyers that swarm on a friday afternoon.
Jeans are too personal. They're something you wear when you're being yourself. They're something that, based on the cut and the condition, reveal a little about you. They reveal gender, even bring sexuality into topstitched relief. My jeans are faded, a little torn. There is gesso on the knee from when I had the time to paint. They're cut low, but not too low, and make my bum look like the bum of a college student. In fact, make me look like me; not an employee.

And so they're not allowed. And they're not allowed working in drugstores, in chocolate shops, as a waitress (unless they're required, more on that later), as a plumber (fucking absurd), floor-washer, dishwasher, and so on. Even the most rudimentary dress code dissallows two things- jeans and sneakers. The explanation is that they're unprofessional. As if these jobs themselves are concerned with the professional appearance of their workers. Polo shirts and khakis are the uniform of a progressive kindergarten, not skilled employment. These dress codes delineate the server from the served. So jeans, the pants that everyone wants to wear, and those with free time can afford to wear, are out.

And by being out for me, they're in for you. Completely dissasociated from blue-collar origins (do we even have a blue-collar in the US anymore?), they belong now to two groups- those who do not work, and those whose work does not dictate exactly what they must wear. The leisure class, priveleged college students, and highly skilled workers in professional jobs. (Cosmo and glamour keep running articles on how to dress your jeans for the office- I can only dream). You can buy embellished jeans, perfectly cut jeans, custom jeans- jeans that subtly talk about who you are and what you want to be seen as. Cargo Pockets for the populist. Embroidery for the imaginary bohemian. Cuffs for the hipster, trouser cut for the crease and ironers. Low in the back for the high school student, low in the front for the no-carb, tobacco, coke and pilates fitness nut. Kabbalah jeans for the needs-to-believe in something bigger (that madonna also believes in). High waistband for a gut to hide, no waistband for those who still believe in Mariah Carey. You can wear anything you want to be.

As long as you can afford it, and you have a place to wear it.



And that's obvious, if you've ever been a person who can't wear jeans.