Why, yes. I am here to talk about my adventures in jeans shopping, again.
PLEASE TRY TO CONTAIN YOUR EXCITEMENT.
Once upon a time, long ago and far away, I bought a pair of Lucky brand jeans for a paltry $10. And lo, they are the most wondrous pair of jeans in the history of the universe, for they are soft and fit well through a variety of size changes; they are the only jeans I’ve ever owned which not only fit me in the waist AND in the hips BUT also have a little give in the thigh area, thereby accommodating my “problem area” (yes, they are not so much thighs as they are ASS OVERFLOW: You’re welcome!) through a bit of weight fluctuation.
I lurve them. And I thought they were discontinued. And I wept.
Ever since the purchase of those jeans (I don’t remember when it was, but I do know that it was before I moved, so a couple of years ago at the very least), I have always become very! excited! any time I see Lucky jeans show up at TJ Maxx or other discount stores. I grab them all up in my size and try them all on, and then I cry because they’re never the same cut.
Except that a few weeks ago I was at TJ Maxx and they had Luckys, and I mentally steeled myself for disappointment, but gathered them up, anyway, and went and tried them on, and OHMYGOSHSOSOFTSUCHGREATFIT.
I may have squealed, a little.
Now, all was not completely rosy. On the one hand, the denim was the softest I’d ever felt, and the fit was not only perfect through the waist/hips/thighs, but the length was perfect as well. (The standard length for Lucky jeans is a 32″ inseam, which is actually a tad long for me. My original pair can only be worn with heels.) This new pair was clearly an irregular, because the inseam is closer to 31″, which renders them perfect for me to wear with flats or sneakers. Yay!
On the other hand, though, I had to decide if I was willing to buy jeans of the variety I have always claimed to hate: Pre-chewed. Pre-chewed jeans are strategically made to look worn when they’re brand new, and this phenomenon DRIVES ME UP A WALL. Why would I want my brand new pants to look like crap? These jeans had some fraying along the seams and a few small almost-holes and also—the major sticking point, for me—the color was strategically faded in a few places. I hate that, truly.
But I love Lucky. I am Lucky’s bitch, quite frankly. And I had just thrown away several pairs of jeans, and desperate times call for desperate measures, and so (I’m hanging my head here, truly) I bought them.
But then I got smart. These jeans were PROOF POSITIVE that the cut that fits me is NOT discontinued. Right? I started Googling the numbers on the tag of my new jeans, and then the numbers on the tag of my old Lucky jeans, and before long, I had cracked the code. My perfect jeans? Are Lucky Easy Riders.
(That’s what she said.)
Okay, so, VICTORY! Now I know what I need!
But, um, what I do NOT need is to pay $110 for a pair of jeans.
Naturally, I turned to eBay. I found two auctions of what I wanted—Lucky Easy Riders in a dark blue, uniform wash, in my size. I watched them. Okay, I STALKED THEM.
The first pair I nabbed for the absolute maximum of what I was willing to pay. So I reasoned that I should probably forget about the second pair, because although I was PRETTY SURE these were the right jeans, what if they weren’t? And I’d already spent money at the store and on this other pair. So I was going to skip the second pair.
Except they ended at a weird time, which meant that I actually, on a whim, was able to grab them for the opening bid, which was around $10. Crazy.
The first pair arrived in the mail day before yesterday, and the second pair came yesterday.
The first pair is NOT the same fit, but it’s very, very close. The thighs are a little bit more snug than my other ones. They will be perfect a few pounds from now.
The second pair IS the same fit, although (of course) they’re too long, so I’ll need to get them hemmed, but that’s not a big deal seeing as how I paid under $20 shipped for ’em. Major score.
The funny thing is that my two new pairs aren’t the same material (or label) at all, and neither of them are the same as the pair I’d gotten at the store, either. It’s the weirdest thing. The ones that are just a tiny bit too snug are not as heavy as the other ones, for example. All four pairs are supposedly the SAME FIT and just different… colors… I guess? But they are NOT. I’m not kidding—just take a look.
It’s like Lucky is actually making this pair of jeans in as many slightly different fabrics as possible, JUST TO DRIVE ME INSANE.
No, I don’t think that’s paranoid. Why do you say that?