ISSUE 12: Worn In, Not Out
On wear, work, and the beauty of what holds up over time.
I reach for denim the way some people reach for rosary beads: out of habit, for comfort, for a sense of grounding. A good pair of jeans doesn’t just fit—they remember you. They soften at the knees where you crouch, fade where your phone presses against your thigh, crease in the shape of your life. There are materials that demand reverence, and then there’s denim—low-maintenance, long-wearing, always ready.
Its roots are famously utilitarian: workwear for miners and railroad laborers, first dyed deep indigo to mask dirt and reinforced with copper rivets to survive the grind. Levi Strauss and Jacob Davis patented the riveted design in 1873, and denim's fate as a fabric of the people was sealed. But utility has never excluded beauty—and denim’s story is proof.
Denim was never just about durability. It became the uniform of cultural rebellion: James Dean slouched into frame in Rebel Without a Cause in 1955, and jeans were officially cool. Artists wore them in the studio. Musicians wore them on tour. Teens wore them in protest. They were banned from schools, barred from upscale restaurants, dismissed by traditionalists—and yet they never went away. They adapted. And in adapting, they became iconic.
“Denim is a canvas,” said Japanese designer Yohji Yamamoto, whose experimental takes on jeans are legend. “It holds memory and form and soul. It gets better as it lives.” Yamamoto’s reverence isn’t unique. From Rei Kawakubo’s shredded patchworks to Martin Margiela’s reconstructed Levi’s, designers have long treated denim as a medium for expression. It’s not just durable—it’s capable.
There’s a reason so many artists have reached for it—not just to wear, but to work with. Painter Sterling Ruby has made entire collections from bleached and collaged denim, saying, “It carries weight, not just physically but culturally.” And it’s true. A pair of jeans can say working class or fashion insider, rugged or delicate, depending on how they’re worn. It contains multitudes.
There’s also a kind of honesty to it. A well-worn jean doesn’t lie. It shows every scuff, every stress point, every moment of friction and use. And there’s something deeply beautiful in that—the visual record of experience. You can’t fast-track the look of truly lived-in denim. You have to earn it.
Of course, denim has its contradictions. It’s a democratic fabric, but often sold at absurdly undemocratic prices. It’s natural (cotton) but often finished with synthetic dyes and environmentally taxing processes. Still, innovation is happening. Brands like B Sides, E.L.V. Denim, and Atelier & Repairs are recutting vintage pairs into new silhouettes, keeping fabric in circulation and honoring its past life.
In a world full of fast, flimsy things, denim offers an antidote. It lasts. It adapts. It holds you. And if you're lucky, it becomes yours in a way nothing else can—molded to your shape, your movement, your story.
I own three pairs of the same Paige jeans, all in the same wash, because they come in a 34" inseam and that is nothing short of a miracle (#tallgirlproblems). But it’s not just the length—it’s the confidence of knowing how they’ll fall, how they’ll feel, how they’ll behave. That kind of consistency is rare, and deeply comforting.
We talk about fashion as fantasy, as transformation, and that’s true. But sometimes it’s also about recognition. Putting on something that knows you. Denim does that. It wears in, not out.
This week’s goodies: frayed hems, topstitching, tonal blues, and hard-wearing details that remind us why denim is always the answer.
Next week: we slip into silver, and explore the reflective, futuristic, and slightly extraterrestrial appeal of chrome.
