It's always amusing to me to read a fashion magazine that exhorts readers to pair a cute, sparkly top and cute sparkly shoes with a pair of jeans for a sophisticated-yet-casual vibe.
Aherm.
I live in a place where denim is not an option; it's a way of life. I have been to many weddings, funerals, awards banquets, fundraisers and other high-falutin affairs where the "Texas Tuxedo" (denim jacket, western shirt, denim pants) was not just de rigeur (Trans.: "why the hell did you take French in high school again?" --my grandmother), it was practically required for admission. That's about as fancy as it gets for denim in these parts, though I do claim that the originator of the cute-sparkly-top-and-jeans look was not some actress, or socialite, or model - it was the cowgirl. If you have been to even one small-town tri-tip dinner in your life, you will know that there is no one who can rock a rhinestone-bedecked halter top with a pair of shitkickers and blue jeans than the western horsewoman. True story.
However, for the most part, we use denim in the way that it was originally intended - as durable, washable fabric for clothing in which we do hard work. I own two -yes, onetwo - pairs of jeans that do not feature the following: busted belt-loops, massive paint coverage, holes in the knees, torn cuffs, bleach stains, and smudges of indeterminate origin. And I'm a barista for a coffee shop, for Pete's sake, not a rancher. Let's not even get into the kind of abuse their pants go through.
I guess the problem then becomes that if I were to reach into my closet and grab the first pair of jeans and the first cute top I touched, statistics dictate that I would look less "New York Fashionista" and more "Isn't that sweet? They let her out of the home, and she even dressed herself." Who knows, maybe sartorial schizophrenia will be big come spring. That's when I'll bust out that little beauty. Check for it in Vogue come March.
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