Why is it so tricky to shop for jeans? You walk into a store where 2,458 almost-identical slivers of blue denim are stacked in forbiddingly neat piles in front of you. You approach this wall of denim and a sales assistant immediately barks CAN I HELP YOU? in a tone of voice you recognise as code for, “I spent all morning lining those up, madam, and if you so much as lay a finger on my masterpiece I will put a curse on your unborn children.”
So, of course, being British you say “Oh no, I’m fine, thank you so much” and peer at the shelves trying to deduce from the obtuse names of the jeans – “Baxter”, say, or “Houston” – which are going to magically make you look like Jane Birkin in St Tropez or Kate Moss at Glastonbury.
The labels on jeans are a bit like labels on wine bottles, in that they are dense with geeky vocabulary that means absolutely nothing to the overwhelming majority of people buying them. You just want to know which jeans will make your bum look nice/which bottle of red will not taste of vinegar or leave you feeling poisoned for two days. When I’m looking at a pair of jeans, the weight in ounces of the fabric per yard is about as helpful as the topographical details of the vineyard when I’m choosing a bottle wine.
But don’t give up, because your perfect jeans are here, I promise. The great thing about jeans is that there is no single, exclusive, expensive iteration that is the perfect jean. This is the ultimate democratic fashion item. The best jeans aren’t in a more expensive fabric – cashmere is not a plus here – and they are never, ever improved by logos or sparkly bits. All that really matters is the rise, the leg shape, and the degree of stretch.
Elizabeth Radcliffe is Levi’s master tailor, and if you have £750 to spend she will bring her Savile Row training to creating a bespoke pair of jeans in her Soho atelier just for you. She knows more than probably anyone else about the tweaks and tricks that make jeans work, and a while ago I spent an illuminating half an hour trying on jeans with her, and downloading her wisdom to share with you.
It turns out that the most flattering rise of waistband, on me and on lots of women, is neither a low-rise nor a rib-kissing high waistband, but one that sits about an inch below the belly button at the front and curves up and away at the sides to sit slightly higher at the back, so that it hooks over your hipbones and doesn’t gape. Also, a mid to heavyweight of denim works best on most women, with just enough give that the silhouette can hug a curve but with enough structure to belt you in around the waist. And I learned that the lowest point of the back pocket should sit slightly above the crease at the top of your leg, to create a visual distinction between bottom and thigh.
Lizzie had me sitting down and standing up, shoes on and off, hem up or under, to figure out which leg shape and length worked best. I prefer a jean that releases from the leg, so straight styles work for me; if you like denim that clings to your shape, you will want a skinny or bootcut.
Wriggling in and out of clothes in changing rooms is no one’s idea of fun, but there are no shortcuts. Try on as many pairs as you can face. Oh, and don’t get hung up on size. My favourite pair of jeans are a vintage pair of 1990s 501s. The waist measurement on that label is three inches bigger than identically sized jeans bought recently. Modern vanity sizing in action, you see: brands have figured out that if a customer fits into a smaller size than she expects to, she will be chuffed and therefore minded to buy. This is daft on all fronts, so please don’t fall for it. Don’t look at the size label, look in the mirror. Twenty minutes in the changing room is all that stands between you and your for ever jeans. Put the time in now, and they will pay you back for the next 20 years.
Model: Lilly Bridger at Body London. Hair and make up: Carol Morley at Carol Hayes Management. Jeans: Levi’s
