Not-Your-Boyfirends Jeans

Yippe kai yay yall!

I am quite earnestly enthused as the due ending primary weeks of July have proven pivotal in my sole allegiance to America and the haughty price reductions ensuing pride in extensive celebration of said holiday. Truly, what says "I'm proud to be an American" more than buying still expensive-but-slightly-less-expensive-as-before shit of faint relative necessity out of pure greed and blind, impassioned want. What?! No really,  please tell me I don't actually know.



Nevertheless, that is not my point, my purpose in not to manage the laurels of holidays with similar patriotic connotation to the beloved 7/11 holy-day– not even a holiday a, HOLY-freaking-day, one that even the k-dash klan adamantly celebrates and most likely endorses for commission (see: every social media network ever created). But rather the much much much anticipated yet coincidentally incidental sale rack purchase of a heavily destructed and ill-fitting pair of jeans, and not at all in "shawty rocking them apple bottom jeans kinda way", however often noted as in coherence with the tailoring of the "boyfriend" cut.

But why the quotations kar?

Because kar, I have self-esteem and therefore am careful in the extravagances of pop culture verbiage in maintaning indefinite suspension of the independent woman for which I am self-claimed constituent. I can not tell a lie, especially in the extreme circumstance including the abouts of my wears. Let us review the facts, shall we

 Numero uno) I don't have a boyfriend

2) If my boyfriend wore these jeans I wold reconsider my relationship in fear that I may been exploited as a beard, and not of facial bliss, as seemingly not apparent to myself but rather the whole conscious my peers. Cue instant humiliation.

2.01) Then again, I may have finally found the homosexual best friend slash brother both my female parental and always shared in all our inbred American tendency to want-driven ambitions.

3) If the point of boyfriend jeans is sample and take dare in trial of the masculinity often best suited male counterparts,  then please explain GAP why my jeans are coined as the acclaimed Sexy Boyfriend cut. I mean, dudes can very VERY well be donned as sexy too, but only if your Shakiras Baby Daddy or, you know, a male model slash any guy that looks my way.

Conclsuion: These are not my boyfriends jeans nor will they ever be–fingers crossed. I have yet to formulate a corny yet empowering reversal to the former highly inaccurate label, but I am in fact admittedly lazy, so that probably is more of something I should put in my iphone reminders, but never actually will...

So whoop, there it is.