Whereas I hate to shop for bathing suits, I love to buy jeans. I especially love to make the trek to the Denim Bar in Arlington, the place where I have bought most of my jeans over the last eight years.
Why do I love it?
First of all, every time I have shopped there with the exception of the time I went with Nancy, I’ve had no fewer than two people helping me. (Sometimes I wonder how they stay in business, because I hardly see other shoppers there.) And when I say “help” I mean someone who will check out your ass and give an honest opinion on whether or not the garment is flattering. Yes, we can consult the three-way mirror, but it’s so much better to have someone say, “wow, you look great in those” or “hmmm… I think you can do better.”
Sadly, my very favorite pair of skinny jeans just hit the point of retirement and my second favorite pair needs the same treatment. Skinny jeans and riding boots are a staple for me in the winter, so this was not an acceptable condition for me, and I especially wanted to make sure I had a pair to bring on my California-Hawaii three-week tour.
I’d had a lunch meeting in Alexandria on Tuesday with my former LD (and devoted male reader of the blog) and suddenly found myself driving by Pentagon Row. There was a parking spot right in front of the store. It was meant to be.
I walked in and gave an overstatement of the obvious.
Me: Hi, I need new jeans.
Denim-ista: Uh-huh.
Really, she was very helpful and patient as I tried on every pair of skinny jeans in my size in the store. And really, the jean trying on process, more than any other item of clothing, really does require one to actually try them on. You can’t just walk in and say, “I’ll take a pair of bootcut jeans in a 27.” There were some pairs that I couldn’t get past my knees. Some that I could stick my fist in the waistband. And of course, true to form, there were two pairs that were just right.
Just right except for the fact that they required hemming, but in addition to ass assessing, they do that there too.
I managed to pick them up today, in spite of a very busy day. And here they are.
Ass shot to come. Or maybe not.
the chelsea chronicles 