Denim Dis-ease

Though I apologize for not providing personal photos of the rhetoric to follow, I encourage you to use your imagination. 

Thank you.

Last week I wore white jeans. I know, I know, shoot me: it's way after Labor day, they had holes in them, it's not Spring for another 6 to 7 months, it's cold outside. No, go ahead, do it. I probably deserve it. Yet the thrill of being such a badarse in the sublime positioning of said denim with any variable layering of blouses, sweaters, tartan pieces– yes Drake, I'm fancy now– was borderline exhilarating and very much terrifying in one foul swoop.



On one hand (said hand being deeply in need of a manicure), I was attending to one of my IB Learner profiles as a self-proclaimed risk-taker.While on the other hand, being in the same condition as the fore mentioned, a perpetual discomfort in the visual perception of my jeans as a hue of creme or a dingy ivory permeated my thoughts throughout every millisecond of 1st, 3rd, 5th and 7th period.

It's called Not-White-Jeans Nervosa, and it's a real thing.

I tell you this in confidence and in quest of like ill mindset in wearing white jeans your self. Tell me, do you stop by the bathroom around the clock just to make sure the time of the month is not this time of the month? Do you pack a cylindrical tupperware container of bleach just for good measure? Do you only eat solid foods that aren't prerequisites to the imminent dangers of dripping or dropping the rarities of cafeteria lunches on your pants?

Or do you live life in the bland lane, and only wear white denim when its appropriate– which essentially suggests never?

And more importantly, do we suppose Miranda Kerr has these types of issues? Hmmm.

Images via Elle, Vogue and manrepller.com